


Behind the Blue

by thealeksdemon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Depressed Lance (Voltron), Depression, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Good Lotor (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Langst, M/M, Romance, Shallura probably, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-01-13 03:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18460478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealeksdemon/pseuds/thealeksdemon
Summary: Things just aren't going right for Lance. Shiro's gone, might even be dead, and Blue isn't his lion anymore—not that there's anything wrong with Kitty Rose—but just when things seem like they can't get worse, the universe decides to prove him wrong. And Lance? He's at the very center of this black hole of misfortune.But he finds solace in a voice from far away, a secret pen pal that understands him more than he'd like to admit, but how long will things between himself and the stranger last? And the man behind the voice? Would finding out who he really is be a good thing, or will it just make everything infinitely worse?There's only so much a lonely boy can lose.





	1. Window Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't watched any of the seasons of Voltron after season 4 (I think) so bear with me here. I've just seen a lot of spoilers and never found the time to watch the whole thing, plus I'm not really feeling how things ended for... maybe everyone. I have a lot of thoughts. I hope you're down with me just having a whole lot of fun! Lance/Lotor is just my crack!ship, and I haven't even watched the season with Lotor in it as a semi-good guy, so his characterization may be off, but who cares! Let's have fun! I hope you guys enjoy :) I've been thinking about this for maybe two years, so let's bring it to life.

It’s hard enough hearing Shiro’s last words echoing in his nightmares, Lance doesn’t need the tension in the castle to remind him he isn't dreaming about Shiro's disappearance. To remind him it's all true and real. It’s already the third morning he’s woken up vargas before he’s meant to, sheets strewn about with pillows kicked to the floor. There’s no more tears to shed for him, still stuck in some emotionless limbo. He's not sure what to feel anymore.  Nauseous, Lance wearily stands from his bed.

When he wanders from his room, door sliding open to dim corridor lights, he can instantly tell he’s not the only one awake. Soft cursing from a hoarse voice, a crash, lights flickering down the hall, and calming whispers are evidence of that. Curious, but knowing what he’ll find, Lance follows the noise and peers past an open door into a lounge occupied by a crescent-shaped couch and a nest of pillows. The lights are low, simulating night even though beyond the window on the far wall the same star-speckled void stares back. 

“Damn it,” someone mumbles, and Lance pulls his gaze from the universe and looks at two figures spotlit by a laptop screen, pale green smudges in a dark room. Pidge sits hugging her knees, shoulders wound tight as Hunk soothingly pats her back. A shattered mug of hot cocoa pools on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Pidge croaks, sniffling as she presses the heels of her palms into her bleary eyes.

“No, it’s alright,” Hunk says, staring absently at the wall as he sets his cup on the floor. “No harm done.” Opening his arms, he envelops her in a hug that muffles her sobs. His own eyes are red and puffy, though determined as always to see things through. For a second Lance and Hunk’s gazes meet, and they both nod sadly to each other before Lance turns away, looking for the kitchen.

Running his hand over the wall, he waits until his palm dips into a scorched dent, marking the day the paladins got into a heated argument after Shiro’s disappearance. Who lost control of their bayard that day is unknown to Allura, but amongst the paladins it’s a well-kept secret. No need spilling and making the princess more stressed out.

Remembering how Keith hid his bayard behind his back the second Allura rounded the corner, Lance sighs. No one ever talks about the exhausting part of grief, when half the time you’re mourning an absence, and the other half you’re hoping the world is wrong. Hoping that one specific precious life persists somewhere in the vast universe and it’ll just take time to find them. After traversing the vastness of space, who can blame them for hoping? Anything seems possible.

Finally arriving at a fork in two hallways, Lance strains his ears. When he confirms the sound of early morning training, he takes a detour from the kitchen and stands in the doorway to the training deck, rubbing his eyes as he watches Keith pivot in place, ducking low as a level six bot slashes at his head. Growling, Keith spins wide with his bayard, severing the bot from the waist to the shoulder in one clean, diagonal slice. Sparks fly as the bot clatters to the ground. 

“Is it safe for me to ask how long you’ve been at it?” Lance asks quietly.

And Keith wipes his chin, barely sparing a glance as his bayard returns to his hip. “An hour? Two?”

“Want a break? I’m about to make some hot cocoa.”

The look Lance receives is cold. “No.”

He tries not to take it personally. “Suit yourself, then.”

Later, when Lance returns to Hunk and Pidge, the spilled cocoa is already mopped up and the shattered mug swept aside. Pidge’s laptop is again in her lap as she types frantically away, expression fixed and stern as she searches colonies and quadrants for reports of strangers, stowaways, or the Champion rising again in some nearby galaxy.

No luck yet, but no one’s given up on Shiro. It wouldn’t be appropriate to, considering how horrible the last couple days have been. Allura is torn between locking herself away and working to the bone, while Coran spends half the day cleaning and the other half helping Allura on the main deck in her own down-played search. Hunk has stretched himself thin providing support for everyone that Lance has to remind him to take it easy. And Keith? Well, Keith does his usual.

At some point the mullet does show himself in the lounge where the others listen to the rapid rhythm of Pidge’s keyboard, taking the cup that Lance silently offers before sitting down across from them.

“Any luck?” Keith asks, toweling the sweat on his forehead.

Pidge shakes her head. “Nothing yet, but I’ve only covered a fraction of the different trajectories he could’ve gone from the blast, though there’s no way of knowing he even followed them.”

“And the messages you intercepted?”

“No mention of an imprisoned paladin amongst the galra so far. No suspicious mission names either.”

Hunk adds, “And Allura and Coran? Do you guys remember if they found anything yet?”

They all shake their heads.

Huffing, Pidge shuts her laptop and leans back into the couch. “It’s just been so quiet.”

She means that in more ways than one, of course. Not only is it quiet out in space concerning the search for Shiro, it’s quiet in the castle, too. Painfully so.

Lance clears his throat. “You guys ever think it’s too quiet?”

They all turn to him, eyes tired and betraying a lack of interest. “In what way?” Keith asks.

“Out there, with the galra. Zarkon’s gone and yet… nothing. We’ve got a whole power vacuum going on, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s bothered by it. Does that make any sense?”

“Power vacuum? You know what those words mean?” 

“Shut up, Keith, I’m being serious.”

He shrugs in response. “Maybe there’s stuff going on, it’s just not important enough to be loud about it.”

“I don’t know about you, but the Galran Empire doesn’t exactly come off as the quiet type. There’s something big going on, I can feel it.”

Before Keith can respond, Pidge interjects. “I don’t know about _you_ , Lance, but I don’t want to think about the galra right now. If they’re quiet, Voltron gets a break, and if we get a break, that means we have more time to look for Shiro.” Looking at him, she pauses her typing to emphasize her point as her words gain an edge. “I have my scanners on alert. If the galra try anything, we’ll know. Until then, I think we should be kinda busy not wasting our time on stupid suspicions.” And she turns away, rubbing her cheeks of dried tears. The chatter of her keyboard continues.

Staring into his nearly empty mug, Lance mutters, “Sorry,” ignoring the bite of her tone.

And Hunk shakes his head. “I think Lance has a point. Something has to be going on.”

“Hey, I’m not saying he _doesn’t_ have a point,” Pidge argues, “I’m just saying we need to prioritize.”

“I second that,” Keith says. “Shiro’s out there somewhere, and there’s only so much we can do without the Black Lion. The universe needs Voltron, I don’t think looking into Lance’s power vacuum while underhanded will do us any favours.”

“Wow. Underhanded?” Lance says, pursing his lips, “that’s the most patient thing I’ve ever heard you say. Who are you, and what have you done with Keith?”

“What’s wrong with what I said?”

“You’re usually so impulsive, I pictured you diving headfirst into the Empire’s butthole without backup before ever considering the surrounding circumstance.” Lance swirls his cup. “You don’t actually care about logistics, you just want Shiro back.”

And Keith narrows his eyes, sitting up. “What, and you don’t?”

“Of course I want him back,” Lance says, leaning forward, too, “but I think Shiro would want us to investigate.”

“You have no idea what Shiro would want.”

“Clearly neither do you!”

Keith’s knuckles whiten around his mug, but he doesn’t say anything more, his eyes so vividly furious that if looks could kill, Lance would be dead exactly yesterday. But instead of lashing out, Keith sits back and shuts his eyes, probably in an attempt to meditate. Something about patience yielding focus.

On the other hand, Lance loosens his fists and rubs his face, feels all his frayed nerves bristle with frustration. Hunk and Pidge, now used to the grief-fuelled bickering, waits for the makeshift resolution they’ve experienced over and over again for the past three days. 

Almost reluctantly, Lance says, “I’m sorry.”

Keith goes, “me, too.”

And even though the galran empire’s silent treatment makes him nervous beyond understanding, Lance says what he knows everyone—including himself—wants to hear.

“We’ll find Shiro. We have to. We don’t have any other choice.”

* * *

 

 

Apparently, they do have other choices. The last thing Lance expects is a Lion swap, with Keith finally admitting that Shiro wanted him to pilot the Black Lion all along, and that in order to fulfill one of his dying wishes, Lance has to switch over to the Red Lion.

Not that there’s anything wrong with Kitty Rose, but Lance just thought that, naturally, if the Red Lion lost a pilot, then Allura or Coran would immediately take Keith’s place. Instead, Lance has to give up Blue?

“No way,” he sputters, disbelieving. “Don’t you mean _you’ll_ pilot Red?”

Allura straightens, lifting a brow at his raised voice. “You’re skilled enough to pilot Red, Lance, and the Blue Lion is the friendliest of the five. The most accepting of new pilots, and therefore the easiest I can align with.” Reading his expression, she sighs. “I can assure you that it’ll only be temporary.”

“But—“

“The universe still needs Voltron, Lance,” she says, her gaze apologetic. “Until we find Shiro—“ she swallows, fiddling with the display screen in front of her, “—or a new red paladin, we can’t deprive the universe of its hero.”

Lance stammers as everyone watches him, waiting for an argument, a retort of any kind. _That’s not the problem,_ he wants to say, but can’t.

So later Lance sits in Blue’s cockpit, “sulking,” as Pidge puts it, though she does say it fondly. It _is_ what he’s doing anyway: sulking. From tomorrow onwards he’ll have to pilot Red, and he's not sure if he’s ready for that. He’s got a good thing going with Blue, and he wouldn’t give it up for the world.

But he supposes he should. For the universe.

Sighing, he places his hand on the control panel, feels Blue purr around him, a thrum that resonates deep in his bones. She’s sad, but she gets why they have to split, even though they’re both seriously against it. It hurts, more than he’ll admit. It just came so easy for everyone to agree on who would swap, and when he protested, they all looked at him like…

_Really, Lance?_

“It’s only temporary,” he whispers, staring out through Blue’s eyes. _But for how long?_ Face scrunching up, he hides his eyes in the crook of his elbow, feeling the first shudders of frustration wash through him. He curls up even smaller, hearing Blue well up with concern around him as he grinds his teeth against the stone sitting at the base of his throat. His eyes burn, but he doesn’t cry.

“I don’t want to leave you,” his voice breaks, muffled by his arm. “I don’t want to.” But he _has_ to, and that’s what matters. He’s so small, so much smaller than he thinks, that it doesn’t really matter what he wants. It’s not up to him when to put off the safety of the universe, not if he’s just being selfish. No matter what he wishes for, it’s ultimately insignificant compared to his work as the Blue Paladin.

_Red Paladin now_ , he corrects himself. As long as Voltron functions, it doesn’t matter. There are no shooting stars out here to wish on, only burning rock and galactic wars, and if he cries, sinking like a pebble in the vast ocean of the universe, no one will hear him. No one that he minds hearing, anyway.

* * *

 

It feels like sacrilege getting into the Red Lion wearing his blue armour, but it would feel twice as wrong to wear the red armour, so he doesn’t complain. Instead, he jokes a bit, feeling that it's right to laugh instead of grumble, knowing for a fact that throwing a tantrum would look seriously uncool. It’s better than seeing red on his shoulders in any case.

At first, connecting and bonding with Red is difficult—and it’s still weird being an arm instead of a leg when they form Voltron—but Red accepts him eventually. Kind of. He won’t tell anyone, but they’re struggling to synchronize, especially since there’s an understanding that necessity supersedes desire. She misses Keith, Lance misses Blue, but there’s nothing either of them can do about it. 

Eventually Lance figures out that Kitty Rose, despite her welcoming him, has not chosen him, and that in itself is a point of contention. She’s trying her best, though.

On his end, the change is jarring. Unlike the stream, the constantly flowing river that his bond with Blue was, bonding with Red is… scalding. A lot of things rely on instinct—which he has a lot of, of course—but it’s not the kind he’s used to. What he _can_ do is sync up with the flow of the tide so he’ll never be dragged by the undertow. He can test uncharted waters without fear. He can surf a cresting wave and come out on top. _T_ _hat_ kind of instinct he’s used to, not the kind that knows which spark of the many will catch and blaze. So far he’s only gotten burned.

Allura, on the other hand, seems to be getting a hang of developing a bond with Blue. Even Lance can admit it: she’s a force to be reckoned with. She flies almost better than he can and seems to really know what she’s doing, more so than Lance sometimes. In comparison, he’s pretty sure he’s flailing in Red, but he tries not to show it. He’s just as clumsy when he pilots Blue, so there isn’t much change there, but then they form Voltron and he has a whole other issue.

Problem is, he’s never been much of a sword guy.

So it’s a relief when they get a small mission: visit a space mall and get supplies for the ship. Searching for materials to repair the castle is like finding a needle in a haystack _,_ considering the castle is over ten thousand years old. Finding any useful parts is like shopping for antiques, and that usually requires bartering, which Lance would be pretty good at if he could tell what these aliens considered valuable.

Regardless, it’s still just shopping, and that Lance can do. This way, Keith won’t have a reason to yell at him for making small mistakes while piloting Red.

“If you think I can’t do it, why don’t you pilot her yourself?” Lance snapped once.

He definitely didn’t receive any good responses to that, but he doesn’t regret saying it either.

Anyway, he’s made his rounds, already on the third floor of the mall. He doesn’t recognize anything he’s come across, but to be honest he isn’t really looking. Pace slow, his attention blurry, he feels himself winding down without the company of the other paladins. No smiles forced or poses struck. 

After Shiro’s disappearance, things have gotten really tense. Sometimes, when things get really rough, they lash out at each other. Of course, they don’t really mean the harsh things they say, so Lance tries not to take any of it personally. He’s not exactly innocent either, he’s _definitely_ been too harsh with Keith recently. Still, to be away from Voltron is more of a relief than he will ever admit to anyone.

Since the Lion musical chair debacle, it’s been hard to be around the others. It’s not their fault so much as his. Bonding with Red feels like being misplaced, like he has to get to know himself all over again. With the friction of their bond a point of stress for him… well, Lance needs some time to think. 

The only one struggling right now is him, and though the others won’t admit it, it’s kind of obvious. Keith is doing fine, though unfamiliar with leading the group—Lance can see he’s not horrible at it though, just mostly nervous and impulsive—and Allura’s superior talent doesn’t need to be revisited. Hunk and Pidge are moving along without issue. In the end, it’s just Lance that’s a problem, _especially_ when they form Voltron.

Deep down, Lance feels like throwing up. Him and Blue? Like fine clockwork. Without her? He’s a fish out of water. He’s being _cooked_ in Kitty Rose, and he wasn't prepared properly beforehand.

Suddenly, the worry he’s been ignoring for weeks—months even—surfaces without warning:

_Am I really cut out for this?_

And a voice, warped like it’s coming through static, says into his ear, “You have a lot on your mind, young archer.”

Lance jumps, heart stopping in his chest. Turning in place, he comes face to face with a veiled woman standing at the entrance to a long, narrow hall. She’s tall, nearly seven feet, and willowy like a tree. Peaking out from several colourful scarves, shawls, and cloaks, is skin like charcoal covered in spiraling, pale scars. Her smile is kind behind her veil, and her two bright, gold eyes regard him knowingly.

He blushes. “W-what?”

“Your mind,” she repeats, voice rippling with static, like it's coming through an old radio, “is scattered.”

Lance looks around, concerned he’s hallucinating. Other patrons of the mall give him and the woman a wide berth, none looking either of them in the eye, but refusing to walk between them.

“I’m real, archer,” she smiles. “Unless you’d like a pinch to prove it.” And she laughs, the beads woven into her shawls clattering together, sounding awfully like bells.

He stares at her in wonder. “Do you read minds?”

“I sense minds, but read them? No.” And she steps aside, tapping a sign that leans against the wall behind her. The same phrase is translated over and over again into different languages, and near the bottom is a translation surprisingly in English:

_Twin Fates: Souls and Fortunes._

“A fortune teller, huh.” Brows rising in interest, Lance forgets his earlier mood and grins. 

“As some would say, yes.”

“Do you read stars? Is that a thing out here in space?”

She laughs. “I’ll admit, star readings are relative.”

“How much for a reading of my future?”

Shrugging, she says, “for you, free, but I did not get your attention to read your future, archer.”

“Oh?” He smirks. “What, then?”

There’s a flicker behind the veil in the middle of her forehead, but it’s gone before he catches it. Instead, his attention is drawn to her voice, which takes on a strange, buzzing quality. 

“You, archer, are faced with a vast, incomprehensible responsibility, but instead of a bow and arrow, you’ve been handed a sword—not by fate, but by friends.” Then she tilts her head, thoughtful. “Rather, your bow has been taken from you, under the guise of your own relinquishment. You are expected to fight as you always have, to fly into battle the same. The imbalance— _your_ imbalance—is ignored.”

The way she speaks sends a shiver down Lance’s spine. The radio static, the haunting tone, it passes through him until she’s speaking inside his head. When he doesn’t say anything—mostly out of shock—she smiles.

“A guardian,” she says, “wielding the wrong weapon, and riding the wrong steed. No wonder you fret.”

It isn’t the regular fortune teller spiel, vague enough to apply to anyone. In fact, he feels a little too exposed.

Glancing around, eyes narrowed, he asks, “Do you know who I am?” Usually he’d brag, but no one but Team Voltron knows about the Lion swap, and though she speaks vaguely, her underlying message is clear. “Who are you?”

Her smile is understanding. “If the archer would like to speak privately, my booth is just down the hall.” She gestures behind her, to the strangely unoccupied hallway, then raises a finger to her lips. “As we know, secrets aren’t often disclosed in strange company.”

And Lance shouldn’t trust her, shouldn’t even humour the invitation, but her eyes are so kind and her so voice oddly gentle that he can’t help it. Maybe it has to do with the fact she’s a fortune teller who clearly knows more than she lets on, or because she recognizes something in him that his own friends have yet to see.

He steps in after her, and the bustling noise of mall patrons and store merchants fades into soft distant echoes, muffled by the fortune teller’s footsteps and the rustle of her cloaks. Something about this woman is familiar, but Lance can’t quite place what. It’s in the air about her, like he’s known her forever.

Clearing his throat, he says, “Who are you, then?”

She looks over her shoulder, eyes glinting as she considers him. “Souls like yourself sometimes call me Yin. Others, Luna. All names I use are given to me, the purveyor of moonlit halves.”

“I… have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Such is my line of work.”

Then she sidesteps out of Lance’s way, revealing a ramshackle stall made of metal scraps. Countless trinkets hang from hooks, so many that Lance can’t discern how many layers sit atop one another. Necklaces, bracelets, pendants, dog tags, and things he’s pretty sure humans aren’t supposed to wear. The whole set up is insanely cluttered and would look too chaotic if not for the sheer fabrics veiling them, a hint of needed charm.

Sitting down behind the displays, cross-legged on a tasseled pillow, Yin fumbles with something that Lance can’t see and hands over a soft, blue cushion. “Please, sit.”

So he does, mostly because he isn’t sure what else to do, but they wind up just sitting in silence, staring at each other. Lance can’t read her at all, but he’s pretty sure it’s obvious he’s puzzled as heck.

When he doesn’t say anything for a long time, Yin clears her throat and says, “You're wondering if I know who you are?”

He sits up, “Yeah!” Then leans in conspiratorially, brow raised. “Do you?”

“I don’t.”

He slumps. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Like I said earlier, I can’t read minds, but I can _sense_ when something’s amiss,” she says, clearing an area in the middle of her display. “When things fall out of line, tip out of balance, leave things behind—”

“Aren’t where they’re supposed to be?” He interrupts.

“Exactly. Anything jarring, anything unexpected, I sense.”

Lance feels cold. “And you sensed that… when you saw me?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Not exactly, but close.” Then she places an ivory cone on the table, point facing skyward. “I sensed a misalignment, dear archer, and you at the center of it all.” With one hand she searches her display, flicking trinkets aside and rummaging through piles. There’s a twinkle of light on her forehead again, a sliver of gold, but then it's gone just as she snatches something from the edge of the table. A silver hoop with veins of dark iron.

“What’s that?” He can’t help asking, gaze fixed to the bracelet as Yin raises it to the light.

“A gift,” she says. “For a lonely archer.”

And she balances it on the ivory cone, pinching the top of the hoop to hold it in place.

“I’m not lonely,” Lance says softly.

“Say all who cross my path,” she smiles sadly. “And yet they follow me here.”

Then she twists the hoop, the trinket balanced perfectly on the cone as it spins, spins and spins like a top. Lance can’t look away, swallowing as a chill washes over him. A ringing thrums in his ears. It could only be a bracelet, but…

“What is it?”

Yin regards the bracelet, too, listening as a haunting melody whines from the silver. “At its most basic, a bond.” Then she straightens. “Archer, have you heard of soulmates?”

“Yeah, of course I have. Why?”

“They’re real, you know.” And before the song hits Lance deep in his chest, Yin grabs the bracelet, twirling it in hand to appraise it. As soon as the melody ends, Lance feels like he can breathe again. The whole time he was anticipating something, something big, but now he’s only disappointed.

“Well, I like to think soulmates are a real thing. It’s nice to think so.” Turning a little red, he stares at the floor.

And Yin smiles warmly at him. “Then take this.” She places the bracelet into his open hand and adds, “and if you’re ever lonely again, listen to the silver’s song.”

Staring at the accessory, Lance bites his lip. “Okay. How much is this?”

“Free of charge. It’s yours, archer, and no one else’s. It will not do for others as it shall do for you.”

“Will I need the cone?”

“Oh, no, that was just for show.”

At that, he can’t help but laugh. “Awesome. And the cryptic way of talking?”

“Mostly me, but it’s all part of the job.” Abruptly, she perks up, straining her ears. “I believe it’s time for you to go, archer.”

“What?”

_Ding!_

Next thing Lance knows, he’s standing back at the entrance of the corridor in the middle of a moving crowd. The noise is so jarring that he visibly flinches, but amidst the chatter he hears a familiar voice buzzing in his ear.

“—ance? Where are you?”

“Pidge?” He says, bewildered, fiddling with the comms hooked over his ear.

There’s a crackle of static, a sigh of relief. “ _Finally_ , Lance! We’ve been trying to contact you for a whole thirty minutes, what the quiznak were you doing?”

“Uh, window shopping?” He spins in place, looking for Yin, but when he looks over his shoulder the booth has vanished, and so has the hallway Yin led him down. He gulps. “I’m on the third floor, maybe the connection’s fuzzy.”

Pidge harrumphs, and in the background Lance can hear Hunk yelling. They’re probably in the food court. “Well, shopping trip’s over. We’re just gonna catch some lunch before we go.”

“Cool, be there in five.”

And Lance begins to make his way over, mind still reeling from what just happened. Did he imagine it? The hallway, the woman, and the strange way she spoke? Reaching into his pocket, feeling that cold silver hoop tucked away, he stops in place.

Should he tell the others?

Pulling out the bracelet, he considers it with a careful eye, unsure why it calls to him so. Then, slipping it onto his wrist and tugging his sleeve over it, he decides that if anyone asks, he’ll say it’s a gift from a beautiful alien that stopped him for a chat. 

It’s not entirely a lie, is it? But it’s better than the truth, that a strange fortune-telling alien, in a hall that doesn’t exist, gave him a singing bracelet that only works for him. Even he’s not sure he believes it. Regardless of which he tells, lie or truth, it doesn’t matter; they won’t believe him anyway.


	2. Light Reading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! In this one we're gonna wind down and get a little personal—see what it's like at home for our boy in blue.

“Come on, girl,” Lance jerks at the controls, sweat beading on his brow. Kitty Rose roars in response, hints of stress corded in her voice as she pivots in place. “I know, I know, but we have to figure this out before the next mission.”

Her agreement is determined, but strained. For hours they’ve practiced flight, combat, and simple bonding exercises, but there’s a slight disconnect between intent and action, a lag between their minds that makes every little movement take a second too long to execute. It’s not Red’s fault, Lance is certain of that, but so far the only thing he can think of to remedy their partnership is time, and so far that’s not resulting in much.

They’ve hit the four-hour mark when Lance once again tries to accelerate through another lap, but Red stops mid-flight and sends him jerking forward into the control panel. There’s a crackle through their bond, a blatant protest. 

_Rest._

“For me or you?” He breathes, slumping in his seat as he removes his helmet to catch his breath. A headache pounds behind his temples and he grimaces, leaning back and closing his eyes. “Fine. Wanna float a while?”

And Red immediately powers down without another word as they both drift through space, no way of knowing which way is up or down. Lance feels Red’s adaptive gravity vanish as he rises from his seat, weightless as a feather. Sighing, he lets himself relish in the dark, soothing his migraine, before kicking the dashboard, floating himself towards a shelf where a tablet’s been left to charge.

With a tap the screen lights up, revealing a full battery and several notifications of complete translations. Pursing his lips, he removes the tablet from its charging station and swipes through different articles and essays about soulmates—or in this case, star-mates. He grimaces at the length of some of them, refusing to read the ones with dense text or obnoxious academic jargon. 

For a second he can’t believe he borrowed a whole tablet from Pidge just to do some research on soulmates, but after meeting Yin he couldn’t seem to get the notion off his mind. Even now he wears the silver bracelet, the polished surface glinting under starlight in that mesmerizing way that makes him reluctant to take it off. 

It’s been a couple of weeks since the trip to the mall, but Lance still hasn’t spun the silver, let it weave its song. He remembers how it made him feel to hear it, unable to place the tune, but frightened of what he’ll hear. Even worse, he’s _excited._

“Not yet,” he mumbles to himself. “Lance Mcclain isn’t that quiznacking lonely.”

Scrolling through an article with satisfactory complexity, Lance discovers that there are many theories about the existence of soulmates, but not many people doubt it, like those on Earth do. It’s an accepted aspect of some cultures amidst the cosmos, and even feared in others. One scholar writes about stardust, how all beings are made of recycled stars, and that soulmates are compatible because they each carry a significant amount of residue from a single galactic entity. That their lives will forever be drawn to each other because of their innate gravity.

Another thinker proposes that there are several different kinds of soulmates. Not always romantic, but often familial, platonic, and maybe antagonistic. The writer claims to have found their soulmate in an opposing philosophical mind who wouldn’t mind the opportunity to murder them if fate brought them to the same moon. They were rivals before lovers after all, and competing for the same galactic equivalent to a Pulitzer.

Sighing, and letting the tablet float away from him, Lance considers what kind of soulmate he wants. If they are somewhere out there, he wonders what they’re like. Are they a boy, a girl, neither, or both? Are they humanoid? He wonders if they’re beautiful, and if that should matter to him if they’re his _soulmate_ , someone supposed to be innately unlike any other. Will they be a lover or a friend, or will they want to throttle each other on sight? 

The idea makes him nervous. Tapping the wall to wake Red up, he waves his hand in the air and they make their way back to the castle to rejoin their friends, ready to sneak in while they sleep. When Lance finally leaves the loading bay, the lights in the castle are still dimmed to simulate night. Tired, but not sleepy, he makes his way to the observation deck, waving his hand through the air to bring up the star display, and lying down on the floor, he lets stars fly past him as he zooms in on a tiny blue dot. 

After the castle systems updated, planet Earth got a new look. Instead of some molten sphere with a moon a little too close, it’s now that green and blue marble Lance recognizes as home. Swarms of clouds swirl over it, and underneath the oceans look far too big. He waves his hand through the hologram, humming to himself.

Suddenly a wave of something hollow fills his lungs, an ache that makes him swallow and shut his eyes. The bracelet on his wrist is heavy, like he’s carrying a heart. His own, or another’s, he doesn’t know. Still, he doesn’t spin it.

* * *

 

“Is that the bracelet?”

Lance nearly jumps from his seat, dropping the silver band onto the counter with a clatter. He pivots to see Hunk yawning in the kitchen doorway, squinting through sleep as he shuffles into the room to boil water. 

Picking up the warm silver, and rubbing the back of his neck, Lance nods. “Yeah.”

“That’s the one that one alien lady gave you, right?” Hunk smiles. “Did you call her?”

“Ha! I didn’t get her number, Hunk, but _quiznack_ , I’d call her if I could. I’ve got... quite a few questions.”

And Hunk raises his eyebrows, laughing. “Unfinished business?”

“You could say that.”

Lance watches as his friend sets up two mugs of space cocoa—not quite chocolatey, but close—and these ‘cookies’ that look like purple moons. 

“What’re you doing awake?” Lance asks, inhaling the sweet smell reminiscent of home. How Hunk manages these substitutes is amazing. “It’s like three in the morning.”

“And you?” Hunk asks, taking a sip, smiling over his mug. “It’s just the usual for me. Can’t sleep.”

“Same here.” Though Lance believes it’s for different reasons as he slides the bracelet on,covering it with his sleeve. “Think we’re gonna have any missions today?”

Hunk shakes his head. “Allura told me it’s going to be an off day. It’s been a while since we did our own things, and we still need to figure out a plan to find Shiro. Unless we’re called, we’re not going to be doing much today.”

“We did technically just defeat Zarkon,” Lance says into his bowl. “I thought we’d be going home by now, but the job’s not over yet I guess.” He forces a smile, as naturally as he can make it, and shoves a cookie into his mouth.

“When you defeat a tyrant, he still leaves an empire,” Hunk sighs. “I miss Earth.”

“Me, too.” For a second, the ache is back in his chest.

Silence fills the room as they snack, but it’s not comfortable. Lance feels something underlying the surface, something tense. His stomach fills with dread.

“Hey, Lance?” 

Swallowing, he looks up from his half-empty mug. “Yeah?”

Hunk doesn’t even look him in the eye. “How’s piloting Red?”

_There it is._ “Fine, why?”

“I, well, _we—”_ Hunk puts down his cup, swallowing as he nervously brushes crumbs off the counter, “— _us_ , the others plus me, we’re worried.”

Lance smiles through the chill, the tremble in his hands. “Worried, why? Nothing’s wrong. We wouldn’t be kicking butt if we weren’t getting along.”

“But…” And Hunk worries his lips, thinking about how to phrase his words. “We can tell that something _is_ wrong.”

“Like, affecting my performance, you mean?”

“No, I mean—

“Did Keith tell you to talk to me, or was it Allura?”

Hunk sighs, surrendering. “Allura. Keith wanted to talk to you himself, but we all know how he can be…”

Lance clenches his jaw, swirling the last of the hot cocoa before downing it. It’s lukewarm, and gross on his tongue as he smiles reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, Hunk, just going a learning process. We all struggled the first time we got into our Lions, right? It’s the same thing.” And he stands from his seat, barely giving the cookies another glance, his appetite ruined. “I just came back from flying her, actually. Gotta get those hours in, right?”

“Lance—“

“I’m super tired, bro, so I’m gonna go to bed. Catch you in the morning?”

He pauses in the door long enough to hear Hunk sigh and say, “yeah, man. See you.”

When Lance returns to his room, having fast-walked his whole way, he resumes his reluctant vigil despite being winded. Sleepless, he wanders the castle hoping no one will catch him, but sometimes people still do. Every night’s been like this since the lion swap. Eventually, he’ll fall asleep, but never when he wants to. Currently, he’s functioning on less than five hours a night, though he’s trying to keep this fact a secret. Everyone has their own way of dealing with insomnia on the castle-ship, but no one has to know that his is because of the stress from piloting Red, a point of shame he’d rather not address, even with his best friend, Hunk.

A part of him wants to throw up the hot cocoa, not because he’s upset about Hunk bringing up Red, but because he feels genuinely nauseous. Anxious, even. If they can tell he’s not doing well, then what’s the point of all this extra training he’s done? How much harder does he need to try until it’ll be like nothing’s changed?

Despite being exhausted, Lance can lie forever in the dense silence, staring at his ceiling as the quiet turns into a soft ringing in his ears. It’s times like these when he’s tempted to take off the bracelet and spin it on some nearby surface, but he just holds it in his hand, running his thumb over the smooth silver. Every now and then he can feel the faint dip of the iron veins, but otherwise it’s consistent throughout. It’s distractingly numbing, memorizing the iron pattern, rivers and rivers that fork and wind off the edge, no concrete end with no real start. 

He wonders where he is in all of it as his eyelids flutter shut, dreaming of wayward songs, silver thread, and the edges of the world bleeding red. 

* * *

 

Finding Pidge isn’t hard, knowing she’ll be tucked away in some new project she’s working on to take her mind off things. The hard part is finding her in the mess of mechanical knick-knacks and computer stations in her corner of the engineering deck, which is always harder than finding a needle in a haystack. Frowning after a fruitless five-minute search, Lance knocks on the wall as loud as he can.

“Pidge?”

A head of hair shoots up amidst the mess, bobbing around as it shifts back and forth. “What? There’s no mission, right? My alarm didn’t go off, did it…” There are more rummaging noises, followed by the sound of a crash and a soft curse.

“No, I just wanted to return your tablet thingy to you,” Lance says, tiptoeing around stacks of boxy drives and heaps of cords. “Thanks for letting me borrow it, by the way.”

Pidge removes her goggles as she eyes him over her laptop. “What’d you need it for anyway?”

“Uh, some light reading I guess?”

She snorts. “You _read?_ ” And she reaches over and takes the tablet from Lance’s hands, putting it down among three others of identical make. “Bet the built-in translators came in handy, huh?”

“Yeah,” he nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Grammar is still a little off in a few places, but otherwise it’s pretty good.”

“ _Really?_ ”

“Just a few times. Doesn’t really take you out of the experience.”

“ _Still_ , Lance. Ugh, I guess I’ll have to have a look at the codes on that. Thought I worked out all the kinks.” Spinning in her chair, she grabs a cord and connects her laptop to the tablet, pursing her lips as she considers a condensed window of text that pops up. After a few seconds, she looks over her shoulder at him, looking him up and down like she’d expected him to leave. “Do you… need something else? This isn’t a library y’know, you don’t have to check anything out. Just don’t touch anything.”

He stiffens. “Actually, I had a question.” About singing bracelets of course, though how to phrase it is still a concern.

“Is it a stupid question?”

“Um, for example?” Asking if it’s possible for bracelets to sing is definitely a stupid question.

Pidge rolls her eyes. “For example,” and in a mocking voice she asks, “ _Do you think I have a chance with Allura?”_ After a snort, she says, “No, Lance, especially recently.”

“Hey, that’s not—“ he stops mid-sentence, feeling odd. “Wait, what do you mean ‘especially recently’?”

“What?”

“That’s what you said, ‘especially recently’.” Shifting his weight, he stares at the floor. He’s been over Allura for weeks now, but the habit of flirting with her still hasn’t let up. He can’t blame anyone for thinking he still likes her, but…“What did Allura say?”

Now it’s Pidge’s turn to freeze. “Um, nothing. I didn’t hear anything.” And she turns her back on him completely, voice light. “Don’t worry about it, Lance, all’s good.”

“Wait a second,” and he spins her chair to face him, his blood racing and vision swimming. Pidge’s strained expression doesn’t help either. “What did you mean, Pidge? Come on.”

She bites her lip, looking guilty as she avoids his gaze. “Not that it’s any of my business,” she begins slowly, “but Allura hasn’t been… impressed with you lately?”

“Meaning?”

Now Pidge looks at him as if to say, _do I really have to say it?_ “Come on, Lance, do you—”

“No, _you_ come on,” he breathes, fists clenched tight. “You’re dancing around the subject, I just want to hear what you meant.”

And she sighs, adjusting her glasses. “Okay, it’s just… she thought you’d, uh, _take_ to Red easier than you have, that’s all.”

“And?” Lance takes his hand off the back of her chair, shoving his hands in his pockets so she doesn’t see how his fists shake with anger. “And everyone else agrees, right?”

Pidge doesn’t say anything to that, but it’s clear. 

He forces a grin, “is that what you guys talk about when I’m late to meetings? Huh.”

“Lance, it’s really not that—“

“Don’t worry about it, Pidge. I’ll go sulk for five minutes and it’ll be like nothing happened.”

He can’t get out of that room fast enough.

They have no idea how hard it is being torn from one lion to be shoved in another. The insistent longing to return, the constant recognition that everything that differs feels wrong. The Black Lion _wanted_ Keith, Blue is Allura’s _first_ lion, but Red… Lance resists her.

He’s the problem, really. Just him.

When he gets to his room, he wishes the door didn’t slide, ‘cause quiznack he’d slam it to let the whole world know that it’s been a little unfair as of late. He knows that everyone recognizes how hard he’s having it, but the tiptoeing is more infuriating than he thought it would be. No need to address that they’ve been discussing his failures behind his back.

_But where else, Lance? Should they just say it to your face instead? Would that be better?_

Sitting down on his bed, he glances to his wrist, sees how the light in his room reflects off the bracelet. Ripping it off, he throws it across the room, hears it bounce off the wall and clatter to the ground. As it spins on the floor, it sings for almost two seconds, and the sound is both relieving and chilling to the bone.

He needs to talk to Yin, but Lance has a feeling finding her again is going to be an entire journey in and of itself. As he stares at the silver band, he swallows. Why is he so hesitant to do as Yin said and spin it like she’d instructed? There’s nothing stopping him but himself, right?

Picking up the bracelet, he studies it in his hands, lets it shine as he holds it. He glances to his desk, at the clear space where he could spin the bracelet like a top and let it ‘sing’ its strange alien song, but then he slides it onto his wrist. 

He can’t. Not yet.

* * *

 

There’s one person on this ship Lance can ask for advice without anticipating some kind of judgement, but it takes him a whole three days to muster up the nerve. Finally, after a particularly easy mission, Lance goes to the medical bay and spots Coran hunched by a pod filled with loose desert sand. He knocks on the wall next to him.

Coran jumps, but smiles when he sees him. “Lance, my boy! What brings you here so late in the day? Considering getting some more cleaning done?”

Lance shakes his head quickly, tiptoeing in like he carries a secret. “No, Coran. I actually had a question, if that’s okay.” And he shuts the door behind him.

The older man raises a brow, somewhat intrigued as he sets down his fuzzy duster. He speaks with interest. “Oh? What about?”

For a long moment Lance isn’t sure how to bring it up, but clearing his throat he rolls up his sleeve and shakes his wrist, determined. “This.”

“Your bracelet?”

“Not exactly. At least, what I heard is that it isn’t _only_ a bracelet.”

Then Coran steps over, removing his gloves. “Let’s see here...” and he lifts Lance’s wrist to eye-level, squinting. Then, taking a magnifying lens out of his pocket, one that acts like a monocle, he studies the metal with a calculated—and comically enlarged—eye. “Doesn’t look like much to me, number three. Some bonded iron and silver, a fine polish—“

“Okay, well some lady said it could do things.” He pulls his arm gently free, smiling tensely. 

“Did you get it at Polaxis Mall? There are some shady dealers there, I’m afraid. You might’ve been—“

“You know what, I actually have one more question, Coran.”

Coran blinks, and Lance wonders if he’s making it too obvious that he wants to run. “Well, fire away.”

“What do you know about soulmates? Or starmates, whatever.”

“Soulmates!” Coran echoes in surprise, then smiles. “Do you think you’ve found yours? That’s wonderful!”

“No, actually,” he dismisses, but for some reason Lance blushes all the same. “I’ve just been doing some reading and I came across some texts. On Earth, soulmates are kind of this romantic notion, but no one actually believes in it. Like a myth. But that’s not true for out here, is it?”

“Oh, no, it’s not,” Coran says, sitting down facing the center of the room and patting the floor next to him so Lance can join him. “The thing about starmates is that they’re _very_ rare. Not many people get to meet their other half in their galaxy, let alone their lifetime. Sure, you’re lucky if you’re in the same solar system, but the likeliness of that is closer to none than you know.”

“So, near impossible.”

“Not necessarily, no. There are records of people finding their starmates, but most of the time that’s up to chance. No one has ever succeeded in finding their soulmate through the actual process of searching. For those who’ve tried, they’ve come up empty. And just imagine it, spending your life’s work looking for someone who could be across the expanding universe!”

Lance juts out his chin, nodding at the bizarreness of it. “Then how would you know if you’ve found them if it happens so rarely? There aren’t that many examples to learn from.”

At that, Coran shrugs, but there’s a light in his eyes that reflects in his grin. “No one really knows for sure, but for those who’ve found theirs? It was glaringly obvious like stars colliding.”

“Coran?”

“Yes, my boy.”

“Did you find yours?”

The man laughs, shaking his head, but says with a wistful smile, “I think I was pretty darn close.”

Lance’s eyes go wide. Leaning in, he asks, “You _think_? What happened?”

“Ah, it was in passing.” Coran waves his hand as if to fan away Lance’s interest, but he continues, smiling fondly at a memory Lance can’t see. “I was attending a masque ball during the old Voltron days, when King Alfor was alive. I believe it was for a diplomatic event to make ties with several planetary nations at once, a whole weeks worth of celebration. It was a beautiful night, no night like it since in my books,” he sighs. “And there was one person I drank with. Danced with.” He glances to Lance. “Never saw his face, but... after that night, I knew.”

Lance holds his breath. “Did you see him again?”

“Unfortunately no. Didn’t have the time.”

“ _What?_ Why?”

Coran shrugs. “I had a duty to Voltron, of course, and it _has_ been ten thousand years.”

“Oh, quiznack. I’m sorry.”

“Language, there. And don’t you worry about it, number three.” Coran pats Lance on the back. “I’m not sad about it. It was... thrilling. Like getting swept up in a whirlwind.” Staring off distantly, Coran sighs again, a melancholic look passing over him. “I have no doubt he would’ve been something to me, though now it can never be clear what that is.”

Gulping, Lance asks, “If you could, would you meet him properly? Your starmate?”

Coran thinks for a long time, fingers twiddling in his lap. Then finally, “In a heartbeat.”

At that, Lance stares at his shoes, strangely understanding deep down just how Coran feels.

“Hmm, why do you ask, Lance?”

And Lance stiffens, glancing over to Coran who now has a curiously intrigued expression on his face. The way his mustache quirks gives away the man’s level of interest. 

“Oh, I—I was just wondering if my soulmate’s out there, y’know? Especially if they’re actually a thing,” Lance says quickly, hiding his hands under his butt. “I’ve been wondering if it’s possible I might see them during this whole Voltron thing. Defenders of the universe, right? There’s a lot of universe to cover, so there’s a chance I might encounter them and I want to know how one _knows_. But if it’s instinctual, I guess I haven’t met them yet, and I’ve met a lot of people so far and a lot of them have been pretty hot, so if—“

“Lance!” Coran laughs, “slow down there. Here’s my question for you: do you _want_ to meet them?”

At that, Lance stills. He’s never been able to lie to Coran.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Yes, I think.” 

“But?”

Lance sighs. “I don’t know what I want them to be. To me.”

Coran’s brows lift. “You don’t want a romantic partner?”

“Maybe,” he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know what you’re thinking, ‘hey, lover-boy Lance doesn’t want a lover? Preposterous!’ And it _sounds_ like a joke, but in all honesty… I’m not really looking for romance right now. I just need _something_.”

The truth hits him deep, and worse, he wasn’t expecting it. Admitting it makes him uncomfortable, kind of horrified, and he turns away from Coran before he can see the disbelief on his face, but the man gently puts a hand on Lance’s shoulder, and when Lance looks over, Coran’s eyes are understanding.

“I think you shouldn’t worry about that, my boy. Soulmates aren’t made to be how you want, but sometimes you’ll find in them what you need. That can be a friend, or a shoulder to lean on, maybe even friendly competition. As I’ve heard from tales, starmates are the ones who will face you head on, be that in rivalry or in love; equal-footed regardless of station. You can’t ask them to be a certain way to serve your desires, but when the time is right they can be just what you need when you need them most, and you won’t even have to ask.”

For some reason this settles something that’s been troubling Lance for a long time, and swallowing, he asks, “was that like your starmate?”

Coran chuckles. “That night of the masque ball was beautiful for a reason, number three, and it had nothing to do with how well that party was decorated.”

Laughing, Lance sits back, staring at the opposite wall as he thinks about the warm metal on his wrist.

“So, paladin blue, did I answer your question in a satisfactory manner?”

“You did, Coran. Thanks.”

And the proud way the altean twirls his moustache is enough of a ‘you’re welcome’ for both of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no Lotor in this one! SOON. IT SHALL BE SOON.


	3. Spinning Silver

“Lance? Are you listening?”

He jerks out of his thoughts, ripping his hand from the bracelet on his wrist. “What? Yes, yes I am.”

Allura narrows her eyes, grip tightening at the edges of her control panel. “Oh? Then what did I just say?”

Lance blinks, glancing around to see everyone staring at him with varying degrees of impatience. When he smiles and shrugs, they sigh, turning back to the task at hand with a look in their eyes that says, ‘typical’, though Hunk shoots him a look of concern. Lance gives him an apologetic smile and mouths the words, “I’m tired.”

Since his talk with Coran, Lance has been thinking about spinning his bracelet. He’s unsure why he hasn’t at this point, but the urge is there and the fear is gone. He can’t wait to hear the song again.

Allura clears her throat. “So… we have news.”

“About Shiro?” Keith asks.

“No, unfortunately.” She worries at her lip before straightening up. “Pidge, if you would?”

And Pidge sets her laptop on the table in the middle of the room. Adjusting her glasses, she says, “As we know, my scanners have been recording clips of interesting communications on frequencies we’ve hacked. So far, nothing that could relate to Shiro, but we did catch something on the galra comms that’s…”

“Something big,” Allura says. “Play the clip, please. Just the important part.”

Nodding, Pidge presses spacebar and audio crackles through her laptop’s speakers. At first it’s a little fuzzy, but Lance hears it clear enough.

“ _—had enough running these errands. Moving these assets is so quiznacking boring, don’t you think? He promised glory, but honestly the crown prince can eat my a—“_

And Allura jumps over, smashing the spacebar before the audio continues. Coughing into her fist, and straightening her dress, she turns back to the group. “There you go.”

Before anyone can say anything, Lance jumps in grinning. “Crown prince! I knew it! I told you guys something was up! It was too quiet after Zarkon’s defeat, you’d think galra would be dog-piling for his position, but there wasn’t anything going on because someone else was already in line. I knew something was—“

“You didn’t know crap.” Keith rolls his eyes.

Lance stammers, “Okay, well I didn’t know that there was a _crown prince_ exactly, but I _knew_ the radio silence was suspicious. You guys just wanted to ignore what I—“

“ _Enough_ , Lance,” Allura interjects sharply, eyes flashing. “This isn’t time for I-told-you-so’s.”

And his mouth snaps shut. Immediately, he stares at the floor. “Sorry.”

Allura sighs, rubbing her face. Dark circles shadowing her eyes makes her look ten years older than she is. “Paladins, this is a serious matter I want treated accordingly, understand?” Her words are pointed enough, so Lance is grateful she doesn’t look at him.

“So do we have a name?” Keith asks, stepping forward to peer at the screen in front of her.

“Lotor, or at least that’s what we gather. I don’t remember Zarkon having a son, and neither does Coran.” At that, the older altean shakes his head in apology. “We don’t have any records of what he looks like, but from Pidge’s recordings it’s fair to assume he’s young, and apparently just returning from exile. With his father’s death the ruling has passed, especially since he’s the sole heir.”

“ _Exile?_ ” Hunk’s brows lift. “What did he do?”

Allura’s face mirrors his concern. “So far we’ve come up empty in regards to what Lotor is like or what he’s done.”

“Any records I’ve checked are empty,” Pidge sighs. “Like he didn’t exist before now.”

“Are you saying records of him might’ve been wiped?” Hunk’s eyes are now the size of saucers. 

“Maybe. It’s not unlikely.”

“Well, if Zarkon is such a big baddy, and he’s not so proud of his son, maybe Lotor’s not such a bad guy?” The rising tone finishing Hunk’s sentence betrays his lack of faith in his suggestion, but also his willingness to try it. “Like, he didn’t inherit the bloodthirstiness or something and that didn’t fly?”

Allura weighs the idea, but shakes her head. “He’s galra, Hunk. And even if there’s good in him, there’s no info on any galran prince leading a rebellion or fighting for justice.”

“Fair point.” 

“Are we going to continue discussing Lotor’s morals, or are we going to come up with a plan?” Keith asks, crossing his arms impatiently.

“Calm down there, cowboy, there’s nothing much we can plan for _._ ” Then Pidge turns her laptop to face the group, revealing a star map with a blinking red dot on the screen. “But I’m tracking the ‘assets’ the comms-guy was talking about, and so far its flight path is going to a trading outpost with no alliances. Galra and otherwise gather but no weapons allowed.”

At the phrase, ‘no weapons’, Keith frowns a little. Then with conviction, “We have to find out what these assets are.”

“Agreed,” Allura nods, “if we want to have a headstart on this prince Lotor, this is a good place to start.”

“When does that ship arrive at that outpost, Pidge?”

Furious typing, followed by, “Approximately three vargas.”

“And what happens if there’s a fight at the outpost?”

“Immediate arrest and ban from all associating outposts for fifty deca-phoebs.”

Keith grumbles. “No fighting, then.”

“Better leave your fancy knives at home,” Lance mumbles, sitting a distance away from everyone and staring at his shoes.

“Oh, shut up, Lance.” Keith snaps, then turns back to the centre of the room. “If we’re not getting into a fight, then we don’t need the full team, right?” At that, everyone nods or shrugs, but Lance stiffens. His stomach starts to twist. “Allura and Coran stay here to man the ship, and Pidge and Hunk will go. Lance and I stay here.”

Now Lance straightens, bristling, “Why do I have to stay, too?” 

“Because.”

His eye twitches. “Come on, Keith—”

And Keith spins on him, glaring hard. “Because Pidge can hack, Hunk is approachable, you haven’t said anything this entire meeting except for a joke, and no one needs someone flirting on the job, Lance. Who knows, maybe you’ll find some pretty alien who’ll give you a bracelet while you’re out there and you’ll mentally clock out for two weeks and forget why you’re here.” Turning away, he adds, “Just stay here and practice in Red or something.”

His words bite, and everyone in the room tenses as they hear them. Hunk stares in bewilderment at Keith, mouth gaping, and Allura hides her face and mumbles something under her breath. Pidge stares so hard at her laptop she might just burn a hole through her screen, and Coran stiffens so much that if you pushed him, he’d likely tip right over. Lance on the other hand is shaking, blinking at the stinging words thrown his way as he hides his bracelet behind his back. He can barely think, barely see, and it doesn’t help that he agrees with Keith completely.

“Keith, that was…” Hunk whispers, approaching the black paladin whose shoulders are wound so tight it’s clear he regrets at least _how_ he said what he did.

“Don’t worry, Hunk,” Lance says coldly, eyes to the floor. “Those were pretty good reasons.” And he turns, walking to exit. His back to the room, he says, “tell me how it went when you guys get back.”

 

 

 

 

The floor is cold against his knees, almost numbing, but his hands still buzz as he clutches them to his stomach. At the edge of his blurry vision is the cyan glow of the barrier surrounding the blue lion, keeping him from her comfort. There’s no more tug between their minds, and she doesn’t even start up to greet him. Instead, Lance is met with the sturdy boundary between him and his old lion, hands aching with the effort of trying to break the barrier by force.

“Blue, please,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to the floor. At the corner of his mind he feels Red humming awake, but she doesn’t call to him, just offers him a calming wave of warmth. He feels like a brat for thinking it, but it’s not the same. He isn’t soothed. He’s smothered and baking, packed in heat and breathing in stuffy air so thick he wants to choke.

Lance wishes he could go to Red and find comfort with her, especially since she recognizes that he’s upset, but every time he sees her he just remembers he's not measuring up. Isn’t quite where he needs to be. Suddenly he’s glad he’s not assigned to the mission, afraid to even fly her in this state. Every second of lag between his mind and Kitty Rose’s makes his stomach rise to his throat. Every unsteady turn is another failure.

He hates feeling like this, but he isn’t sure how to get rid of the sickening twist in his gut and the knot in his throat. If he can’t access Blue’s cockpit to find some kind of solace from himself, then where can he go?

“Lance?”

Stunned, Lance sits up, afraid to breathe. It’s Hunk.

“Lance, are you here?”

Footsteps approach carefully down the hall, searching and kind. Frantic, Lance gets to his feet and searches for somewhere to hide before he even questions why. Scrambling to the corner opposite the door, he ducks behind a large crate of spare parts and repair tools, sliding along the floor and disappearing just in time for Hunk to miss him when he peers through the door.

“Lance?” 

The boy in question is holding his breath, hand over mouth as he crouches behind the crate. Immediately, he wonders why he’s hiding, but he doesn’t move from his spot. If he comes out now, it’ll be clear he was trying to hide in the first place, so instead he chooses to listen and wait until it’s safe to go.

There’s the soft shuffling of feet, then a sigh. “Hey, Blue.”

Eyes widening, Lance strains his ears. _Is Hunk talking to her?_

“I don’t know if you can hear me. Even Yellow doesn’t talk to me like how you talk to Lance. _Talked_ to Lance, I mean,” he corrects himself sadly. “But I’m worried about him, so I bet you are, too? I know he’s struggling, but he won’t tell any of us anything… it’s kind of scary. I know he still loves you, so if you could put in a good word for us somehow, that’d be pretty cool. We’re here for him and I just want him to know that.”

Silence. 

“Blue?” There’s the shuffling of feet again. “Man, I hope you can hear me, because if you can’t this would be kinda weird.” And Hunk laughs a little nervously. Lance can picture him rubbing the back of his neck in that sheepish way he does, but earnest all the same.

Hunk continues slowly, “Well, nice talk? I’m gonna go…”

Lance counts to thirty twice before he decides it’s safe to leave his hiding spot, but even when he does, he’s wary. When he peeks around the edge of the crate, he’s relieved to find the room empty save for Blue, but Hunk’s words dwell in the back of his mind like an echo across a lake. Glancing up at Blue, her majestic head raised and proud, Lance strains his ears hoping that, maybe, she’d reprimand him for hiding from his friend.

But there’s nothing. Not a purr. 

“Sounds about right,” he mumbles.

 

 

 

 

When Lance finally gets to his room, having dodged every encounter possible by going through the vents, he finds himself in the empty dark. Despite the fact this is one of his only other safe places to be, where he can keep the world out and himself in, he doesn’t feel good. It’s like the air is bitter with his sadness, saturated in the attitude he brings when he’s not putting on a front. Now he’s forced to think back to everything he’s said or done and there’s nothing else to stop him.

“Damn it,” he whispers, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. 

He thinks back to his outburst earlier at the meeting, basically yelling, “I told you so,” At the top of his lungs like some elementary school kid. He remembers his pettiness, implying Keith’s violence by making a comment on his knives. Then he remembers his own impatience, his disbelief at the idea of not being on a mission he’s _clearly_ not needed for. It’s not like he’s the only one not going, the majority of them aren’t, but for some reason he can’t stand the idea of being unnecessary. Useless.

Keith’s words come back like a slap to the face. 

_Who knows, maybe you’ll find some pretty alien who’ll give you a bracelet while you’re out there and you’ll mentally clock out for two weeks and forget why you’re here._

Lance peels open his eyes and glares at the silver bracelet and how it shines. “Keith’s right, I probably am obsessed with this thing.”

But it’s not really the bracelet that’s the problem, he thinks. It’s the weight on his shoulders and in his feet, making every step difficult and heavy. It’s been how easily he’s getting tired, how often he needs the cryopods, how small he feels in the hands of the universe. He wants to be great! He wants to do great things, be awesome, look cool while doing it, but sometimes things get hard or rough or ugly and heroes get hurt. Sometimes you look stupid, foolish, cruel, and sometimes you just get lost. For God’s sakes, Shiro might even be dead and no one here will admit it!

And Lance… Lance is lonely. Morale is down and it hurts to see. He made a mistake trying to keep up a semblance of good nature when Shiro’s disappearance—or even death—made him realize this whole thing was way too real.

He’s a teenager, for quiznack’s sake! All of them are! But the other paladins—Keith, Pidge, and Hunk—they make things look easy. Sure, it’s not like they aren’t struggling, but they push themselves forward and hold on to their goals with vice-like grips despite everything being thrown at them. When Shiro disappeared, they wavered, but Lance feels like… he feels like…

He feels like he was the only one who let go.

Clenching his jaw, Lance slides the bracelet off and lowers it to his lap and stares, angry and bitter. Even worse, he feels empty. Hollow. 

He catches a glimpse of his blurry reflection in the metal and spots the dark circles under his eyes, like bruises smudged into his skin. He’s sleepless, frustrated, and he can’t even bring himself to tell the people that he considers family that he’s definitely not in a good place.

At the thought of telling them that he can’t sleep, that Red and him aren’t clicking, that he feels like he has nothing left to offer but failure, his throat tightens around any words he could possibly say.

He can’t. He can’t tell them.

In a daze, he lowers the bracelet, holding his breath as he lets its flat side rest on the floor. Then, steeling himself, he spins it, watches as it fails to lose momentum, just like when Yin spun it herself. Before he can even register that he’s done it, the song starts to whine from the metal and Lance is listening to a song that seems to play from the stars.

The melody is strange and alien—as expected—but it resonates in his lungs and unwinds the tension in his shoulders. It envelops him like he’s floating in an ocean, sun overhead and warming his skin.

He’s so lost in the music that it takes him a few seconds to realize the bracelet is floating. It still spins, almost faster than before, but now it levitates in front of him at the height of his chin. There’s a crackle, then a snap, and suddenly something sparks in the centre of the bracelet. A bright light flashes from inside and then the song fades, the spinning stops, and through the bracelet, like a speaker, a voice says—

“ _Hello?_ ”

Lance screams. The voice on the other side screams in surprise. Lance screams louder. The stranger—likely a guy—screams again. When Lance inhales, the stranger yells loudly, “ _Stop!_ ” And Lance snaps his mouth shut, eyes wide like the moon. 

Suddenly the stranger laughs, and it’s so surprising that Lance blinks, stunned.

“ _You know,_ ” the voice starts, still laughing, “ _I wasn’t expecting a call this late at night, no less one that started with a scream, but I’ll admit it sure leaves an impression._ ”

Lance stutters. “I called you?”

“ _You spun your bracelet, didn’t you?”_

“Yeah?”

“ _Then yes, you did._ ” He chuckles again, and Lance admits to himself that the guy’s voice is soothing. Like velvet, almost. _“I just came back from a meeting when I heard the gold singing. I thought it would never ring, but turns out I was wrong.”_

Lance sits up, trying to register what’s happening, but the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Wait a tick, you got a _gold_ bracelet?”

“ _Yes. Why?_ ”

“I got silver,” he says bitterly. 

The man laughs again, and it makes Lance’s ears buzz. “ _That’s curious. Did you meet a mysterious purveyor of sunkissed halves?_ ”

“Uh, moonlit halves, for me.” He fiddles with the hem of his pants, thoughtful. “Her name was Yin or something.”

“ _Ah, then we met different women. I met a merchant named Sora a couple weeks ago at the side of a bazaar.”_

“Met mine a couple weeks ago, too, but in a mall.”

“ _Interesting,”_ he says, and sounds like he means it. “ _Did Yin tell you how these bracelets worked?_ ”

Lance shakes his head before he realizes the stranger can’t see him. “Not really. We were interrupted, so I only got the bit about soulmates.”

There’s a sound of acknowledgment, then, “ _Sora told me to wait for a call from… my soulmate._ ” In saying that, the stranger sounds a little nervous. “ _I wasn’t sure how these things worked, but I didn’t want to get called in the middle of a meeting. You’re awfully lucky to have called me now.”_

“Is it night there?”

_“Indeed it is._ ”

“Shoot, sorry. I’m off-planet, but right now I’m in the middle of a day cycle.”

“ _That’s alright, it’s an honour to finally speak to the other half of this thing. Speaking of, what’s your name?_ ”

Panicking for a second, Lance blurts out, “L-Leo. And you?”

“ _You can call me… Torvald_.” There’s a beat before he bursts out laughing, and Lance can hear the smile in his voice. “ _I’m assuming we’re both using pseudonyms?_ ” 

Unable to keep himself from grinning, Lance says, “Yeah, pretty much.”

“ _Probably for the best, huh?_ ” 

“You have no idea.”

“ _Well, it’s nice to meet you, Leo._ ”

“Nice to meet you, too, Torvald.”

There’s a shuffle, a crackling of feedback, like Torvald’s moved to lie down. “ _We’ve made it clear that you definitely didn’t call me on purpose, but since we’re here is there anything you wanted to talk about?”_

Looking around him, Lance considers the emptiness of his room and the lingering twist in his gut before worrying at his lip. Just like that, the energy from the shock and the introduction washes out of him and he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, empty again of everything but the sour things inside.

“Actually,” he starts quietly, “is it alright for me to just listen?”

Maybe it’s the way his voice sounds, a slight degree of pathetic, but Torvald immediately responds with a soft, “ _Of course_.”

And Torvald describes the weather on the planet he’s on, how he’s not at home but currently doing a tour of some kind. He describes the room he’s in, how awful the furnishings are, but how reliable and trustworthy the service is. Torvald talks briefly about having a failure of a father and having to clean up his mess, a few tales of his sisters, and things that don’t disclose too much, but enough to seem real.

Listening to his voice is calming enough for Lance, and it rivals the silver’s music in how much it envelops him. Like he’s heard it in a dream once, or that he’s known this voice all his life despite only hearing it for the first time now. He would fall asleep to it, if that wasn’t rude. 

“Hey, Torvald,” Lance says, interrupting a description of the sky the stranger is seeing through their window. “I have a question.”

“ _Ask away, Leo._ ”

“Before I ask, I just wanted to say thanks.”

“ _For?_ ”

A little flustered, Lance says, “For just talking to me about all that without even knowing who I am. I don’t know if it’s because we’re just assuming we’re starmates and are being polite on purpose, but I’m really grateful for it.”

There’s the crackling of static and a thoughtful pause before, “ _You’re welcome. I don’t know how I’ve helped you, but I’m glad I have. My manners might have to do with the fact we’re starmates, but if that’s how we start, I see no issue. I’d like to maintain a good impression so we can call again.”_

Lance’s cheeks feel ten times warmer. “Y-you don’t have to worry about that. Next time I’ll tell you about stuff on my side, today is just…”

“ _Don’t worry, I understand. Don’t push yourself,_ ” Torvald says gently. “ _So, what was your question?_ ”

“Okay, picture this,” and he adjusts his weight, speaking carefully into the bracelet so he won’t have to repeat himself. “You’ve been hanging out with the same group of people for the last couple months or so, and some of them you’ve known for longer, like years. They’re your friends, you’ve been with them through thick and thin, and honestly they’re kind of your family.” Now he swallows, getting anxious with his next words. “But something happens, like a catalyst of some sort, and there’s this wall between you and them. Maybe you put it there, maybe you didn’t, but everyone else is suddenly so much farther away and you’re not sure how to get back to them.” He looks down. “But you’re not sure if you want to, either.”

Torvald is listening attentively, and it’s odd to Lance when he says, “ _Go on._ ” There are no strings attached to this voice. No history or expectation, just patience. It’s music to Lance’s ears.

“So, with all this,” he continues, “you realize you don’t belong as much as you used to. They’re still your family, but things don’t feel the same and you’re the only one who—to the group—has really changed. When it’s like this, what do you do?”

“ _What do you want to do?_ ”

“I… this is hypothetical.”

“ _Is it?_ ”

Lance reddens. “Okay, no.”

Torvald chuckles. “ _Again, what do you_ want _to do?_ ”

Thinking about it, his lips part and his heart aches and he says, “I want to run.”

Silence. Then, “ _Away?_ ”

He nods, not caring that Torvald can’t see. “Everyone has a role here, but I feel like I don’t. Not anymore. I’m trying to fit in a spot not made for me, you know what I mean?”

There’s a pause before the bracelet flickers and says sorrowfully, “ _Yes. I do._ ” 

“And I know I shouldn’t run, and honestly I don’t think I will, but if there’s anything I could do without consequences or repercussions, I’d just,” he swallows, rubbing his eyes. “I’d just go home.”

“ _Leo,_ ” the voice says, understanding and warm. “ _I think… If these people are your family, they still have love for you. I think you should take the chance and try to explain to them how you’re feeling._ ”

Hugging his knees, Lance laughs. “You make it sound easy.”

“ _It won’t be. I can’t promise it’ll be easy._ ”

“So it’ll be hard then.”

“ _It might not be what you want to hear, but yes. Yes, it’ll be hard. If they’re your family they will understand and work with you to make changes, but if they won’t, then you’ll know what to do._ ” 

Lance stares at the cool, soothing light glowing from the bracelet, exhaling slowly as he hears the distant sounds of Pidge and Hunk taking off and Keith’s voice over the intercom. Closing his eyes, he inhales, letting the air flow into him. “Alright,” Lance says. “You’re right.”

“ _Are you worried?_ ”

Snorting, he says, “Oh, absolutely, but you’re making sense, so.”

“ _I do try_.”

“Thanks.”

“ _It was no problem, Leo._ ” Then Torvald yawns.

“I guess it’s about time I let you go,” Lance says, and feels a 'bout of reluctance. He tries not to frown as he stares at the bracelet, wishing to see what this ‘Torvald’ looks like, just so he can match a voice to a face. “You got a meeting tomorrow?”

“ _Unfortunately, yes. This place is chaos after my father’s greed_.”

“How do you hang up?”

“ _Hang up?_ ”

“Oh, like stop the call.”

“ _Put the bracelet back on, or at least that’s what Sora said._ ”

Lance hesitates to take the bracelet out of the air where it spins and floats, pulsing a calming light that washes through him like a tide. “Good night, I guess, Torvald.”

“ _Good day, Leo. It was nice talking to you._ ”

The sleepiness in the man’s voice makes Lance feel a little guilty as he picks the bracelet out of the air and slides it back onto his wrist, but he feels lighter than when he hadn’t spun it into the air. Clutching it and closing his eyes, he lets out a trembling breath and holds it to his chest.

Like floating in the ocean, eyes on a purple sunset, Lance feels like he’s floating. Sea salt, sand, the curve of a crystal wave. Air fresh on a coastal breeze.

It ripples through him, rushing to his fingertips and his toes, warm and cold and shocking to his system like lightning in a storm.

This is his starmate. _This_ is his starmate. 

“Wow,” he breathes, tilting his head back so he can stare upward, fingers pushing through his hair. It’s nothing short of overwhelming. “Holy shit.”

 

 

 

 

Prince Lotor slides his golden bracelet onto his wrist as he sits up in bed, shuddering with another full-body yawn. After an exhausting day he didn’t expect to come into his chambers to see his starmate bond rising off his desk and singing its cosmic song. For a long moment he didn’t answer, stunned to silence as he watched it float midair.

Whatever energy that was drained after his meetings with his father’s generals came back full force just so he could bolt forward and, with one finger, flick the bracelet so it could spin wildly, activating the connection to the other half. Then, heart thudding in his chest, he’d uttered a curious, “Hello?” And without mercy the person on the other side screamed.

Thinking back to it, Lotor can’t help but laugh, resting his chin in his hands. He’s buzzing with a tingling fire from his head to his feet, warm with relief and missing his moonlit half already.

The legends are right. When you meet them, you really do know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just finished "Spinning Silver" by Naomi Novik so pardon the title xD just a tribute to another great book by a fantastic writer. SO GLAD TO FINALLY HAVE LOTOR BTW, and also glad to finally update.


	4. Human Male Talk

After the call with Torvald, Lance waits out a varga before leaving his room, quietly finding his way to the main deck where Keith, Allura, and Coran stare at an error message across a blinking display screen. At his entry, Keith spares him one glance. Though he says nothing, the black paladin is instantly tenser, shoulders knotted and arms crossed tight.

Trying to ignore the anxiety swelling at the way Keith looked away, Lance asks, “What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Allura says, frowning as she tries to reconnect to Pidge and Hunk’s comms units. Another error message pops up. Her frown deepens. “We lost them right outside the shipment doors.”

“It’s likely interference,” Coran suggests, moustache twitching as he scans through the error report. “Though I’ve never heard of cargo having that kind of security before.”

Anxious, Lance asks, “Shouldn’t we get them? What if they need backup?”

“That’s what I said,” Keith grumbles, to Lance’s surprise, “but Pidge said not to go after them unless _this_ goes off.” And he points to what looks like a child’s alarm clock with one long antenna added to its head. It has a silly expression drawn on its face with permanent marker, which is clearly Pidge’s signature. “They have remotes they can trigger to send us an S.O.S. signal, but so far they haven’t done that, so we’re _assuming_ they’re fine.” Still, he clearly sounds bothered.

Sighing, Allura says over her shoulder, “I’m worried, too, but it’s important to trust them. Think of it as practice as the new leader of Voltron.”

At the corner of Lance’s eye, Keith stiffens, perturbed by her words. Pretending he saw nothing and clearing his throat, Lance wanders to his own control panel, activating his display to pinpoint Hunk and Pidge’s location to find their ship still docked at the outpost. “How long have we been disconnected?”

“Just under ten doboshes.”

“That’s pretty long.”

“Yeah,” Keith exhales, uncrossing his arms and stretching. His back pops. “I’m getting something to drink.” 

Allura watches disapprovingly as he leaves, but before she can say anything, Lance says with a wave of his hand, “You know Keith, he’s not the kind of guy to sit still.”

He doesn’t know why he’s defending such a minor thing, especially after their small argument earlier, but Allura doesn’t question him despite raising her brow. She knows he’s right, so she says, “Can you keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t take any detours? Hunk and Pidge might reconnect soon and he needs to be here when they do.”

“Uh, sure,” he says, holding back the ‘ _anything for you, princess,’_ that comes effortlessly to his tongue. “We’ll be back before you can say the words, ‘emo mullet’.”

As he jogs after Keith’s shrinking figure, he wishes deep down he’d just said no, that Keith would come back regardless whenever he wanted to, but fuelled by the confidence surged by his conversation with Torvald, he made a stupid choice. When he finally catches up to Keith—he isn’t rushing per se—the guy is already brooding over a cup of water, oblivious to new company.

So when Lance walks into the kitchen, Keith’s deep-in-thought glare vanishes and he sputters into his drink. “What’re you doing here?” He asks defensively.

“What, a dude can’t drink water in the same room as another dude?” Pouring himself a glass, Lance obnoxiously drinks, gulping loudly to hide his nervousness. When he comes up for air, he smacks his lips. “Ahh, refreshing H2O.”

“What do you want, Lance?” It’s a question, but it sounds more like a request for him to leave. “Pidge and Hunk haven’t sent an S.O.S., have they?”

“Uh, nope. I’m just here to make sure you come back.”

Keith sighs. “Allura?”

“Yep.”

“It’s not like I’m gonna vanish.”

“Yeah, but you do wander for a while sometimes,” and Lance mimics the act of walking with his fingers, before making a gesture imitating fireworks. “And sometimes you wander right into the training deck and start sparring bots. I don’t know about you, but that shit’s magic.”

Sighing, Keith says, “Fine. I’m almost done anyway.” Then he refills his cup to the brim.

For a while they stand in silence, leaning on opposite sides of the kitchen island. The quiet is so stifling that Lance’s nerves begin to buzz to the point he’s sure he’s sweating profusely, but he can’t leave. Staring into the bottom of his glass and swirling the water, he clears his throat and roots his feet to the ground.

“You ever wonder…” And at the corner of his eye he sees Keith raise his head, listening. “You ever wonder why the colour of the lion you pilot decides the role you play in the team? Like Blue? Leg. Red? Sword-arm.” He pauses. “And the Black Lion means you’re the leader?”

At that, Keith stiffens, and Lance can see the muscles in his back tense. “What, you saying you want to be the leader instead, Lance?”

He shakes his head. “I admit I wanted to pilot Black once, but not anymore. I don’t think I can manage it.” It’s hard enough synchronizing with Red. “I mean, just imagine if I swapped with Pidge! I’d have to put a lot more effort into brainy plays, sneaky maneuvers, the structure of nature and how to, I don’t know, hack the world, but we all know that’s not the kind of thing I do. It’s not my role.” Turning to Keith, he rests his elbows on the countertop, considering him carefully. “I’m not saying it’s impossible for me, it’d just take years—I’d probably collapse from short-circuiting before then—but there would be parts of it I wouldn’t be comfortable with for a while, y’know what I mean?”

After a moment, Keith meets his gaze, lips a tight line. He doesn’t look angry. He looks tired. Finally, he says, “I do.” And sighing, he sets his cup down, massaging his temples. “I didn’t ask to be the black paladin, but it was Shiro’s request in case anything happened to him. Then something did, and I wasn’t about to disrespect his wish.”

Lance sits down on one of the island chairs, deciding he doesn’t want to stand for this. “Wish we could ask him for advice.”

“Right? It’s not like there’s a class on how to be a good leader. Who knows if I’d stick around for it if there was one? I dropped out of the Garrison, who’s to say I won’t quit Leadership 101? And it’s never been in my immediate interests to lead a—“

“Team defending the vast, unknowable universe?” Lance gulps the last of his water. “Yeah, that’s a little much for a first.”

Keith sighs, bowing his head. “It’s a lot of pressure. I know Shiro trusts me, but still.” 

“I get that. He’s not the kind of guy you want to disappoint.”

Abruptly, Keith stands up straight, throwing up his hands in exasperation, and it surprises Lance so much he flinches. “Shiro? Always had charisma. Unquestionable authority. Wisdom. He’s older than us, which is a plus. What am I, _one_ year older than you?”

“Uh, doubt it, shortie.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith stares into his cup. “Whatever. So fine, I’ll fly Black. But I thought maybe Allura would be the leader on some level, not like she isn’t already. I just don’t understand why it’s suddenly my job because I’m the black paladin even though I didn't ask for this nor have I trained for it.”

Lance nods. “I’m sorry, man.”

“How well am I doing anyway?” For a second Lance thinks it’s a hypothetical question, but the look on Keith’s face says otherwise. “There’s no way I’m doing that great.”

So Lance answers honestly, “You’re not Shiro, but it’s not like you’re horrible.” Then teetering his hand in the air, he jokes, “You’re doing better than I hoped you would.”

At that, Keith snorts, but there are knots unraveling in his shoulders. He’s not so worked up anymore. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Get used to it.” And he gives Keith a smile. “Hey, I was wondering about something.”

“What?”

“How’s flying Black?”

Keith thinks for a moment before shrugging. There’s no flash of nervousness, no glance away, just something bordering indifference. “She’s a lot heavier than Red, and not quite as fast, but it’s alright.”

“Oh. I see.” Definitely not what Lance was hoping to hear.

After a pause, Keith asks slowly, “And how’s flying Red?”

There it is, the million-dollar question. Lance smiles, preparing to lie, about to pretend everything’s going exceedingly well, but Torvald’s words whisper at the back of his mind and he suddenly can’t. The cocky grin falls. The arrogance, too. He says, “Let’s just say it’s not the greatest.” 

“What’s wrong?”

Lance starts to feel nauseous. “We’re not clicking well, me and her.” When Keith gives a concerned look, Lance straightens and assures, “Not that we’re disagreeing or anything! We’re trying our best to work things out, but it’s taking a lot longer than we—or anyone—wants. Syncing up our thoughts and actions is literally the hardest part. Imagine an actual lag.”

“Quiznack. Seriously?”

He laughs nervously. “I wouldn’t lie about it. Not my proudest moment.”

Hearing that, Keith gulps, staring at his hands. “Hey, Lance, I’m sorry for what I said earlier, before the mission—”

“Hey man, no need,” Lance interjects, shaking his head, “I should’ve taken the meeting more seriously anyway.”

“Okay, maybe, but I shouldn’t’ve lashed out at you like that.” Keith raises his chin, meeting Lance’s nervous gaze. They’re both equally uncomfortable, but Lance doesn’t feel like bolting. Yet. “Not like we need more evidence that I’m a horrible leader, but what I did wasn’t cool. You didn’t deserve it, especially as a fellow paladin.”

Lance looks away, nodding as he furiously blinks his eyes. A moment passes between them where they both understand that Keith is forgiven without Lance confirming it. In fact, Lance is glad he spoke to Keith at all, sensing that something has changed and definitely for the better. But there's still something that needs saying.

“About that,” Lance begins softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Me being a paladin and all. The moment we find Shiro, I don’t think I’ll have a place on the team anymore.” Before Keith can interrupt, Lance adds, “When he comes back we both know you’ll give Black up. That means you’ll go back to Red, who misses you like crazy. Naturally, anyone would expect I go back to Blue, right?”

Keith, horribly confused, rearing to argue, but thankfully quiet, nods slowly.

So Lance continues, enunciating so he’s clear. “I have an unshakeable gut-feeling that Allura is her paladin now, completely, and Blue won’t let me in anymore.”

“You don’t know that for sure, Lance.”

“You can’t be sure of the opposite either, dude. You’ve seen her flying Blue, right? And how quickly she’s adjusting?” Saying it makes it more real than when he thinks it. He can barely ignore how his hands shake as he tries to make his point. “She was already so powerful out of the suit, without a lion or bayard, but now _with_ them? Man, _I_ wouldn’t mess with her seriously, and if I did as a joke, I’d know I’d lose.”

He sighs, reading Keith’s stunned expression. Bewildered. Disbelieving. He’s not getting it. 

So Lance, a little more seriously, starts counting off on his fingers. “When we get Shiro back—not _if—_ we’ll definitely vote for his leadership, hands down. There’s no one more suited for Yellow than Hunk, and Green with Pidge. Red and you together are unparalleled. Coran is castle engineer, co-pilot of the castleship, and an _actual_ royal advisor. Allura has done more with Blue than I have, and better. She’s a force to be reckoned with. Then there’s me.” And he puts down all fingers except for the pinky on his left hand, and for a second can’t help staring at it. “There’s me. _Me_. Seventh wheel. I don’t know about you, but I don’t know any vehicles with seven wheels.”

Keith blinks. His jaw drops. “Lance,” he starts, earnest and trying. “You’ll always be part of Voltron, you know that, right?”

Exhausted, Lance searches Keith’s eyes, knows he’s being sincere. What can he say so Keith understands? But before he can say anything, the castle-wide PA system clicks through.

“Keith, Lance, where are you?” Allura’s exasperated voice echoes through the room. “You know what, never mind. Please return to the main deck, connection with the green and yellow paladins is re-establishing.” _Click_.

Lance and Keith look at each other, as if at a standstill.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Keith says, getting up. “Okay?”

“Sure. As long as you keep it between us.”

At that, Keith freezes. Lance doesn’t know why he said it, but his palms are sweaty and he can’t handle the idea of his insecurities spreading around as whispers amongst his friends. It’s for him to tell, no one else. 

It takes a second, but Keith finally surrenders. “Fine.” Awkwardly patting Lance’s shoulder with a tight smile, he sighs, “Come on, before Allura eats us alive.”

When they get back to the main deck, they’re greeted by a screen displaying Pidge and Hunk manning a small space pod. They both look tired, the former frowning and mumbling under her breath while the latter yawns into his hand which is covered in motor grease.

“Glad you two finally joined us,” Allura says pointedly to Keith and Lance, before turning back the to the green and yellow paladin. “So, Hunk, Pidge, what happened?”

Hunk’s sigh ripples through the call all fuzzy and filled with static, but his words are comprehensible despite the noise. “Not quite sure, but the shipment we were trying to get into had some kind of frequency-disrupting pulse. Our comms units malfunctioned as soon as we hacked the door.” To demonstrate, he pulls out two small black dots from his pocket that Lance recognizes as one of Pidge’s gadgets, built so they don’t have to rely on their paladin helmets. Both units are burst.

Pidge doesn’t look pleased with the broken devices, side-eyeing them with a narrowed glare. “I tried figuring out what it was, but even my laptop started acting weird until we got a safe distance away. Couldn’t fix the comms units though, so that’s why we’re talking to you through _this_.” And Pidge gestures furiously to the dashboard none of them can see.

“Hey!” Coran yells from his corner, personally offended. “That cruise pod isn’t fully outfitted with new tech! The new visual and audio transmitter was supposed to be updated last spicolian movement. We agreed to delay it because it’s still serviceable, number five, no need to insult her.”

Pidge sighs. “Sorry, Coran.”

Behind Allura, Keith shudders as if to clear his brain of what they’re saying. “Well, did you figure out what the assets were?”

Next to Pidge, Hunk shakes his head. “Nope. There was a second crate inside with a completely different locking mechanism, and since Pidge’s laptop was scrambled when we got closer, we couldn’t hack it.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Language,” Allura admonishes, before turning back to the screen. “Did you get caught?”

“Almost.” Pidge’s nose scrunches up. “Security wasn’t so high, but lunch breaks are apparently very quick. Hey, how long ’til we get back without the Castle’s teleport?”

“About the same time it took you to get there, but it does depend on traffic from the outpost. With the calculations we have, I’d estimate from as long as thirty doboshes to a whole varga.”

“Hm. Coran, rate the auto-pilot feature on this thing.”

“… Serviceable.”

At that, Pidge stands from her seat, pressing a button on the dashboard. “I’m taking a nap.” And beside her, Hunk stretches, eyes squeezing shut as he yawns again. 

Recognizing that both of them are tired, Allura nods. “Alright, we’ll meet you at the shuttle bay when you get here.” And as soon as the call ends, she turns to Keith and Lance and says, “Well?”

Lance blinks. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what,’? What was it that delayed you?”

They look at each other, silently arguing about who will respond, but Keith decides they’re taking too long and stutters, “We were talking about human male stuff.”

Allura narrows her eyes, scrutinizing them. “Like?”

“Nothing a princess should know,” Lance quickly adds.

“I find that highly offensive.” Turning from them, she flicks her control display a couple of times, scrolling through a ridiculous amount of alien script. “If you’re not going to tell me what you were talking about, I’ll assume it was obscene.”

Neither of them say a thing, letting her assumption condemn them in her eyes.

She says, grimacing a little, “Well, they won’t be back for another varga at most, so is there anything either of you wanted to do?”

When Keith opens his mouth, turning to Lance as if to say he wants to continue their talk, Lance looks away quickly and says, “Well, if we have a whole varga, I might as well freshen up. I haven’t done my skin routine in a while, y’know. Might as well get on that.” And he’s out of there before anyone can stop him.

 

 

 

 

Lance and Torvald have established a system, though it’s taken a couple of weeks to get it right. When they want to talk, they spin the bracelets around their wrists three times so the other will get the message, and when the receiver is free, they call back. If they’re unavailable, they spin their bracelet twice in response, or once if they don’t think they can call that day-cycle. Sometimes they call when Torvald just wakes up and Lance is about to sleep, and sometimes when Torvald is free from responsibilities and Lance can’t wait any longer. Nowadays it’s their calls that Lance looks forward to, glad to have the voice on the other side to ground him in space when he feels like there’s nothing left to hold.

He’s been avoiding Keith in private, but when others are around neither of them act like anything is wrong. Hunk is beyond relieved to find they’re not fighting, but Lance thinks that Hunk might still be worried. He doesn’t exactly know how to remedy that since it’s natural for Hunk to be worried. They’ve been friends for what feels like forever.

“Lance, are you really okay?” Asks Hunk after repeatedly being told that, ‘ _Yes, I’m fine, don’t worry about me.’_ Deep down, Lance thinks, ‘ _Nothing gets past you, huh?’_

So, giving in just a little, Lance responds, “I’ll tell you soon, alright? I’m just… working through some things.”

“You don’t have to do that alone, y’know?”

_But I don’t want to worry you._ “I know, I just want to make sense of it myself first. The moment I’m ready I’ll tell you, okay?”

And Hunk makes him pinky-promise, and prescribes him to drink hot milk every night to help him sleep. Turns out, after telling Keith about his paladin problems, Lance would much rather die and, once in his grave, roll on top of the declaration so no one but those who dare to dig him up discovers his insecurity. It’s hard enough telling the one person—or two if you count Torvald—but Hunk is his best friend, and if he hasn’t told Hunk already, he doesn’t want Hunk knowing he’s the _third_ to find out after _Keith_ of all people. 

Which is honestly a petty reason, but seriously.

So Lance spins his bracelet on his wrist three times while he sits in bed, before stopping it with his thumb so it doesn’t ring longer. It tries to sing, but it buzzes instead. He knows that Torvald will feel it wherever he is, so he waits patiently in his room as he swipes through another one of Pidge’s tablets, reading a story on two starmates who found each other on opposite sides of a war. It’s an old story, scanned from an old tome and roughly translated to english, but the last few pages were burnt away and there are no more copies in the universe to provide the conclusion. Despite not knowing the ending, Lance finds the story extremely interesting, transfixed on tiny details and old illustrations. 

He nearly leaps off his bed when his silver bracelet buzzes once, twice, then three times. It continues vibrating, urging his attention. Quickly, he tugs it off and tosses it lightly into the air where it glows and suspends instead of falling. 

The song when you’re receiving a call is a lot different from when you’re sending one, and though Lance won’t admit it out loud, he _greatly_ prefers the former.

Flicking the silver bracelet so it spins to establish connection, Lance says, “Morning.”  
“ _Evening, Leo._ ” There’s a sleepy drawl in Torvald’s voice that makes Lance shiver.

“Did I wake you up?”

“ _No. In fact, I’ve just come from breakfast._ ”

“Was it good? Or are you eating slop again?”

Torvald chuckles, and it’s a low sound. Soft. “ _I don’t understand this saying from your planetary culture that breakfast is the most important meal of the day—frankly, I prefer lunch—but if I were to tell you that I was eating slop again, what would you say?_ ” 

“That you really need a better chef or a better place to stay.”

He laughs again. “ _I eat what my generals eat, not better. We afford only so much. If it will ease your mind, I heard lunch is slop_ and _oobar_.” 

“Oobar? That early in the day?” Lance smirks. “Can guys with a position as high as yours be intoxicated on the job?”

“ _I’m on a holiday of sorts, I promise._ ” But Lance can hear the sly smile in Torvald’s voice.

“Oh, sure.”

“ _No, really,_ ” he insists. “ _We just got something delivered that will change the course of my dad’s business. If things go as planned, I’ll get to talk to you more._ ”

Instinct and habit kick in at those words and before he can stop himself, Lance is smirking, voice lilting with charm. “And was part of that plan freeing up time for me, or is that a lucky bonus?” Just as the words leave his lips, he instantly flares up red as a tomato, hand smacking over his mouth. On the other end of the call Torvald laughs aloud, but it doesn’t seem to be at Lance’s expense.

“ _Why, you’ve never spoken to me that way before,_ ” the voice says. Though expecting disgust of some sort, Lance is shocked to hear surprised delight. “ _I’ll admit it wasn’t originally part of the plan, Leo, but I’m an opportunistic man._ ”

Lance immediately buries his face in his hands, trying to calm his heart of embarrassment. He mumbles, “Torvald, I’m so sorry. That was weird.”

“ _Hm? Why apologize? I like it._ ”

“Wha— _what_? Why?” Lance wishes he could see Torvald’s face, get a sense of what kind of response he’ll get, but all he has is his voice and the silence from his thoughts.

“ _Well, it came so naturally from you. I assume it’s just another facet of who you are, and so far I’ve had no qualms with any of those I’ve discovered._ ”

Lance presses a hand to his chest, measuring his breaths. “You’re joking, right?”

“ _Unfortunately, no. Is something wrong?_ ”

He shakes his head, staring at the dark of his room. If not for the mellow glow of the bracelet, his room would be pitch black, but for once he wishes he could tuck himself into the shadows not because of shame, but to hide his blushing face from light.

“N-no, a lot of people just think it’s annoying. I’m surprised you don’t for someone who sounds real posh.”

Torvald scoffs. “ _A lot of people speak stiffly around me, Leo. Rarely does anyone speak of fun things, or in fun ways. Not to say it’s funny, but I find a little casual flirtation beguiling, don’t you?_ ”

Lance can’t help the small grin, nor the warmth in his cheeks. He says sarcastically, “Wow, are you my starmate or something?”

“ _I sure hope so, or I’m going to have to return this bracelet and demand reimbursement of my time._ ”

They laugh together, Lance trying to keep his voice quiet with the other paladins sleeping. “So, Torvald, what are your plans on such a holiday as today?”

“ _Plans with or without you?_ ”

He flushes. “W-without.”

“ _Well, before lunch I’m going to check in on a couple of departments, make sure everything’s in working order. I won’t be doing paperwork, but I still need to be aware of what’s going on. Then I’ll have to check over the labs to make sure things are within protocol, since sometimes those curious—Honestly, Leo, it’ll bore you. The only difference to my regular day is that I’ll have a bit of booze._ ”

“Wait a sec— _just_ booze? What’s the point of a holiday if you’re not going to have fun?” Lance sputters in disbelief. “Torvald, come on.”

“ _There’s nothing much to do around here, it_ is _a fortified base after all, not a—_ “

“Alright, okay, I get it.” And Lance lifts a hand as if to stop him right there. “That’s bullshit, though. Holiday? You gotta spend it right. It’s like rare currency! A ticket for one-time shenanigans! From everything you’ve told me, you rarely get time for yourself. Is there really nothing you can do that’s remotely entertaining?”

“ _I… well my sisters are busy today with their own plans. They booked time off to go to a show together on a neighbouring planet. If not for that, I’d spend today with them._ ”

“And you’re not going with?”

“ _Not my kind of show._ ”

“Anything else you can do?”

Torvald pauses. “ _There’s nothing that immediately comes to mind. Furthermore, there are watchful eyes everywhere here and I can’t risk slacking off to a degree that would tarnish how these people see me_.”

Lance scrunches up his face, “Well, I got an easy solution for you: don’t get caught.”

Torvald sputters a laugh. “ _That’s not that easy here, though I appreciate the enthusiasm. I can demand privacy, but past my quarters there’s no guarantee._ ” 

_“_ Where can you go without cameras or security that _isn’t_ your room?”

“ _Nowhere_. _I’d have to go off-planet for that._ ”

“If there’s no other option then.” Immediately, Lance leaps off his bed, sliding on his shoes and activating his door. The halls beyond are dimmed for night, and when he peers outside there’s not a soul awake but him.

“ _Leo?_ ”

“Shh!” And Lance awkwardly pushes the floating bracelet along as he makes his way to the observation deck, careful of his footsteps making noise. When he gets there he activates the holographic map of the universe, quickly scrolling through the planets he’s studied over and over again in search of home. When alone he plays a game where he jumps from star-system to star-system from a random point in the universe, seeing how long it would take for him to find Earth amidst the sea of colourful stars. Who would’ve thought it would come in handy at a time like this.

Stopping on a planet 80 percent blue with purple earth, Lance whispers, “Okay, how long would it take you to get to Sprig X4-32B?”

There’s immediate static as Torvald moves from wherever he’s positioned to his own holo-map. Several beats pass before he whispers back, “ _Four quintants_.”

Lance snorts. “Why’re you whispering, too?”

“ _Oh._ ” Torvald stops, a little sheepish. “ _Well, four quintants._ ”

“Too far.” Spinning to another planet speckled with blue, Lance asks curiously, “How ‘bout O-Opellasimus Dime? Is that how you pronounce that?”

Pause. “ _That’s a very hostile planet. Carnivorous wildlife and warmongering locals._ ”

“Never mind, then.” Dragging his fingers downward, Lance stares at the hologram of a green planet covered in lakes, quickly scanning the chemical composition of its atmosphere. “Try Z12-Korna-Get.”

It takes a second, but Torvald finally says, “ _Approximately two vargas in my fastest cruise pod. Why?_ ”

Lance’s heart races louder, booming in his ears when he says, “Meet me there?” He’s worried for a second that Torvald will say no, that he’s too busy, it’s too risky, that he doesn’t want to meet because that’ll just make things weird, but then—

“ _Is it alright if I get the oobar first_?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I wrote this one really fast because of feelings. I know I wrote angst in the tags but... is this angsty at all? (Ｔ▽Ｔ) A couple of y'all said it was funny, and I'm not complaining, but man. Despite my need for angst, I really just write a lot of fluff lol.


	5. A Soft Place to Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol is this fluff???

 

“ _Surely you won’t go out of your way just to see me. Six vargas? Leo, that’s far too long compared to my two._ ”

Lance snorts, lacing his shoes and knotting twice before grabbing an empty duffel bag. “Oh, I’m going, Torvald, even to just make sure you actually do something worthwhile today.”

“ _What time is it? I know you haven’t been sleeping well lately, I can’t make—_ “

“You’re not making me do anything,” Lance assures, folding up his swim trunks. “And if I need to sleep, I’ll sleep on the cruise pod. Autopilot is a thing, and from my observations the route from my location is clear of debris, bandit activity, and space monsters. Torvald, come on,” and he places his hands on his hips. “Do you want to or not?”

“ _I—okay, don’t get me wrong, I want to see you._ ” And he chuckles, soft static speckled over his voice. “ _I’m just worried. What’re you going to tell your friends?_ ”

“What’re _you_ going to tell your employees?”

“ _Leo, we both know it’ll be a lot easier for me to get away than it will be for you._ ”

Sighing, Lance throws his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Okay, good point, but I have a plan. Ish.”

“ _Don’t lie to them, alright? I’d rather not come between your relationship with your friends, or be cause of any strife_.”

Lance smiles. “I appreciate that. Don’t worry, Torvald, while you wear your badge of honour, I’ll wedge myself into your work life and tear it apart just for kicks, sound good?”

Torvald bursts out laughing. “ _Certainly_.”

“Well I’m gonna have to leave soon if I want to make it there at the same time you do. See you later?”

_“Buzz me when you’re halfway there._ ”

“Will do.”

“ _Can’t wait to see you, Leo._ ”

And shaking his head in wonder, sliding the silver over his wrist, Lance bolts out of his room with a change of clothes buried in his duffel bag. He’s rubbing his cheek as if to wipe the smile from his face, but he can’t help the excitement bursting from him like fireworks. This is really happening. It’s finally happening. He doesn’t wanna ruin it.

Lance rapidly knocks on Coran’s door, hearing the muffled sound of the man yelping and tumbling off his bed. There’s a stuttered, “One moment!” before the door opens with a hiss and Coran appears in a onesie and nightcap, blinking wide-eyed as he wipes drool from his chin.

“Number three?” He yawns, “what’re you doing up this late? Is something wrong?” Then he looks to the bag over Lance’s shoulder and, with brows furrowing, asks warily, “where are you off to?”

Lance only grins, eyes twinkling. “I found my starmate, Coran.”

There’s a pause, a beat where the phrase settles in the altean’s sleepy brain, but when it finally clicks he’s wide awake and mirroring Lance’s glee with a surprised laugh. “You did?”

“Yeah, I did!”

“Lance, my boy, this is amazing! How? How did you manage it?”

“With this.” And Lance lifts his wrist, jangling his bracelet. “But I don’t have time to explain right now, I’m on my way to meet him.”

Coran blinks and stills, dizzy from an onslaught of emotions and understanding. Slowly, he leans back to check a clock by his door, before staring at Lance in slight bewilderment. “Right now?”

Lance steels himself. He doesn’t want to take no for an answer. That’s why he didn’t go to Allura or Keith in the first place, and besides, Coran already knows he’s been looking into soulmates. As someone who met their own soulmate fleetingly, Coran should understand how much this means to him. Lance says, “Yeah, but only for today. I made some calculations and it’ll take me a while to get to the planet I’m meeting him at, and depending on how long we hang out I’ll probably be back by tomorrow, but I won’t be gone forever.”

“And you’re certain he’s your starmate?”

“One-hundred-percent.” Looking into Coran’s eyes, he plants his feet and, with as much conviction he can muster, says, “I need to see him, Coran. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to die if I don’t. I don’t want to sound like some rebellious teenager who’s putting too much stake in someone I barely know either, but I want to put a face to a voice. I want to make sure I’m not dreaming, and ultimately,” he swallows, “I need a break. A moment away. I want one beautiful night, y’know? And I wanted to make sure I told someone before I left.”

The longer Coran stares the more nervous Lance gets, but there’s a softness to the altean’s eyes that confirms his understanding. Smiling, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s saying this, but, “And what will I tell the other paladins?”

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess you can say I’m on a date?” He blushes a little at the suggestion, but it’s not entirely a lie, is it? “It’s like a friend-date, but still. A really long friend-date. Just don’t tell them it’s with my soulmate, ‘cause I don’t know how well that’ll sit.”

“Of course, number three.”

He hugs the altean with all his might, wishing there were more ways to show his gratitude. “Thanks, Coran. You’re the best.”

“You’re going to have to tell me all about it when you get back.”

“Cross my heart.”

Coran pats his back, pulling away. “Anything else you need just in case? Do you have snacks?”

Lance smiles. “Actually, can you get the fastest cruise pod ready? I have one more thing I need to do.”

 

 

 

 

Next thing he knows he’s standing in front of Hunk’s door, shifting his weight back and forth as he considers his best course of action. He hasn’t told Hunk the other things, the things he knows Hunk finds important, but this is one thing he can’t keep from his best friend for long. This isn’t so much an issue of self-confidence or self-worth, this is keeping a whole person a secret. It’s keeping _someone_ _important_ a secret. Though Lance might have been calling Torvald discreetly this whole time, meeting him makes him real and tangible in a way that if Lance tried to hide him, it would imply shame. It would make him live two lives in private, with a third in the eyes of the universe.

Lance can barely keep track of the two he already has, he can’t add a third that would drive a rift between himself and his friends. If he did that, even Torvald would be upset with him, and that’s a concept Lance can’t even imagine.

So, bracing himself, he knocks on Hunk’s door. Beyond it he hears a soft, slurred mumbling. Something about pancakes. He knocks again, but this time he calls softly, “Hunk?”

Something stirs inside. Then, “Lance?” Hunk says, muffled through the door. “What time is it?”

“Stupidly late. I’m sorry to wake you up, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

After a couple seconds the door hisses open, revealing Hunk in a comfy sweater, pajama pants, and a pair of bear slippers Lance got him weeks ago. He’s squinting, blinking blearily at Lance, but smiling warmly before he shuffles back into his room and sits on his bed, waving for Lance to join him.

“So,” he rubs his eyes. “What’s up?”

Sitting down next to him, Lance clears his throat and says, “I’m gonna be going on a short trip.”

Hunk stiffens before nodding slowly. His brows furrow a little. “Should I be worried?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay.” The yellow paladin picks at a loose thread unraveling from the hem of his sweater sleeve. Quietly, apprehensively, he asks, “Will you come back?”

At that, Lance gives him a look, but his nerves buzz regardless. “What? Of course I’m coming back. What makes you think I won’t?”

Hunk looks at him sadly and despite the sleepiness, his gaze stabs right through him. “Don’t think I don’t notice you, man.”

A chill dances down Lance’s back and he can’t help looking away, eyes fixed to the floor. He doesn’t want to think about this right now, not when he was so excited five minutes ago, so he smiles at his hands and takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m going to have to come back if I’m going to tell you all about my date.”

Now Hunk straightens, gasping softly. “ _Date?_ With who? Is it that lady who gave you your bracelet?”

“No, but I’ll have her to thank,” Lance says, happy to get those giddy feelings back again. “Because of her I’ve been in, as we say, _correspondence_ with this one guy, and I think we’re hitting it off.”

“Holy shit,” Hunk’s eyes are wide and sparkling with excitement. “What’s he like?”

Lance snorts, “Oh, real fancy from what I can tell. Heir to a conglomerate or something, and he speaks like Allura does. But man, his voice—” he makes an ‘o’ with his pointer finger and thumb, “—sweet velvet.” He feels a swat on his arm. “Ow!”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him before!” Hunk laughs, nudging Lance with his elbow.

“Well, for one thing I didn’t want to share,” Lance snickers jokingly, “but for real, for one it might not even be a date-date. It’s like penpals finally meeting up in a city halfway between, so it’s more like a hang-out. I guess. I wasn’t so sure about how to tell you, but here’s the kicker.” And he turns to his best friend, holding his gaze. “You know all that stuff I’ve been researching lately? The stuff Pidge calls light-reading?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

Lance bites his lip. “Soulmates. Starmates. Out here in space? It’s a legitimate thing, dude.”

He blinks. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Coran can confirm.” 

“So wait, is this guy…”

And Lance nods slowly, dramatically, saying everything he needs to say with his eyes.

Hunk gasps, eyes so wide they might pop out of his head. “No quiznacking way!”

“ _Yes_ way, Hunk. I wasn’t sure if any of you would believe me because, ‘oh, Lance and his nonsense again,’ but I swear on all the stars that I’ve found my actual soulmate and I’m literally six vargas away from meeting him, and I couldn’t just vanish without telling my best friend.”

Arms wrap around him tight and Hunk is laughing, voice bright and giddy. “Bro, I can’t believe this!”

“You can’t tell the others, though! Coran’s just going to tell them I’m going on a date.”

“Coran knows?”

“Oh, Coran told me all about the starmate thing, you should ask him about it.”

“Wait,” and Hunk pulls away, looking at him curiously. “So, are you and this guy in love or something?”

Lance turns beet red, “God, we’ve only known each other a month and a half!”

Hunk gasps again, hand flying to his chest. “A month and a half and I’m only finding out now?”

“Hunk—”

“Okay whatever, forgiven, but you have a crush on him right?”

Lance buries his face in his hands, laughing like crazy. He’s almost forgotten how good it feels to talk to Hunk. “Dude, I don’t know what I feel for this guy yet.”

When he looks up, Hunk is smiling. Joy, excitement, and most alarmingly relief. “I’m happy for you,” he says softly, taking Lance’s hand and squeezing. “Thank you for telling me.”

Squeezing back, he says, “No problem.” Then he pulls his hand away, curling his fingers. When Hunk fist-bumps him, he says sheepishly, “By the way, I’m helpless in the kitchen and I want to pack a quick picnic, can you help?”

“Absolutely, but first, what’s his name?”

“Uh, Torvald.”

“That’s a really weird name.”

“Right?”

 

 

 

 

Setting the cruise pod on auto-pilot, Lance settles down in a stiff bunk near the back of the main deck. Though he feels the movement in the ship, the stars beyond the control window barely shift, none getting closer, none fading away. His duffel bag stuffed with clothes and food sits by his feet, swaying at the jerky flight of the cruise pod. Yawning, he dims the lights and rests his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the strain of being awake so long. Still, a smile works its way onto his face and, though no one’s around, he hides it behind his fingers as if to keep himself from audibly expressing his excitement.

“Oh, man,” he breathes, grinning wide as he stares at the ceiling. What will Torvald be like, he wonders. Torvald certainly _sounds_ like a good-looking guy, but at this point does it even matter to Lance if he’s handsome or humanoid? Lance has been chasing after girls all his life, he hasn’t dabbled too much in his interest in men or otherwise. He’s always known of course that beauty is beauty, but lots of boys growing up were unhygienic, so he never really considered any of them valid options.

Certainly there was his fanboy crush on Shiro to consider, but there was never a chance there as far as he could tell. And after being second to Keith in every aspect and interaction, Lance decided Shiro was a lot more narrow-focused than he’d originally thought. Still a great guy, though.

But what would Lance do if Torvald was kind of filthy? Would the universe pair him up with someone like that? Is Torvald his filthy half, or are they part of one neat and tidy whole? He hopes they are.

More, he hopes he meets Torvald’s expectations, whatever they may be. Exceeding them would be better, but it’s best for Lance not to get ahead of himself. Sure, he talks big and takes his chances, but it’s not like he doesn’t recognize some of his shortcomings. He’s not perfect, not even close, but so far Torvald has been okay with it.

If he’s okay with it, then one day Lance might be, too.

 

 

 

 

When Lance finally breaks through the stratosphere of Z12-Korna-Get—and he’s stopped boiling in the cockpit—he opens his eyes to bright and beautiful green. His jaw drops, blinded by the lush landscape spotted with vibrant blue lakes. Vast forests ebb with the tide of whistling wind, caught under the wings of small, double-headed birds. They soar in flocks shaped like diamonds, their feathers rippling gold, orange, and red under the sun.

He’d fly alongside them if he wasn’t late, so he quickly punches in the coordinates Torvald relayed to him on their last call and whirls his pod around. Heart singing in his chest, he searches the surface for a dark grey alien ship and, when he spots one approximately at the coordinates he’s submitted, he slows and begins to land.

Lance’s vision blurs, his blood pumping so fast and concentrated in his chest that his feet start getting cold. His landing is bumpy and he’s definitely not proud of it, but it’s not what he’s thinking about when he bolts from the pilot seat, snatching his bag, and jumping out the exit like he’s being chased down by space cops.

He’s been adjusting the pod’s atmosphere slowly throughout the trip to make sure he’s biologically appropriate for disembarking, but his first step into the open air is dizzying. He steadies himself, clutching his bag tightly, but then he feels the grass tickling his knees and he can’t help but lift his eyes.

Seeing things from the sky is different from seeing things on the ground. The grass is tall, brushing his fingers as he turns. The fresh air fills his lungs, earthy and sweet, and the cool breeze on his cheeks soothes the flustered heat past his skin. Stumbling back from the ship, he looks up, holding his breath.

Clear blue sky spreads from horizon to horizon, speckled with sparse clouds that slowly twist and mingle. There’s not a single star in sight save for the sun, and he can’t help thinking it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He’s forgotten what it feels like to walk without boundaries, no walls or ceilings in sight. He wants to cry.

Then suddenly there’s a tingling sensation at the back of his head, like he’s being watched, and he turns to see by the shore not a hundred metres away a man looking at him with his head tilted in curiousity. Long, white hair pulled back in a ponytail stirs in the wind, but as far as Lance can tell he isn’t old. He’s tall, his posture proud, and he’s wearing a loose grey tunic tucked into fitted, black pants. The purple skin is slightly alarming, such a contrast against the green fields, but what’s far more endearing is his smile.

The man doesn’t say anything, he simply reaches for his wrist and flicks something gold. Immediately, Lance feels his silver bracelet buzz. He glances to his wrist, bewildered, then up to the man who’s now waving at him.

_That’s him_.

Lance’s feet start moving. He expects Torvald to just wait for him to there—of course, he’s by the lake Lance told him to get to—but he steps forward, too, aiming to meet him halfway. Everything within Lance is deafening, he can barely hear himself breathe or see the edges of the forest, but as soon as Torvald is barely five feet away the world quiets down to a whisper and there’s nothing but the two of them grinning like idiots.

“Leo, allegedly,” Torvald says, bowing his head. He’s smiling so wide Lance can see sharp fangs amidst neat teeth. 

“Torvald, supposedly,” Lance echoes, giving the man a once-over now that more details are clear. A little offended, but still smiling, he says, “You didn’t tell me you were going to be handsome.”

The man laughs, and the sound is so much more beautiful in person. It’s light, even more contagious, and he laughs with his whole body, shoulders shaking while the corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. He says in response, “And you didn’t tell me you’d be more attractive than imagination allows.”

Lance can’t help the flushing of his cheeks, and Torvald steps forward, studying his face. “Curious. You got a little red.”

“It happens sometimes. Did you get away okay?”

“As well as I could’ve. Let’s just say despite my constant attendance lately, they’re actually quite used to my absence. How about you?”

“Snuck away in the night, no problem,” Lance shrugs, smiling mischievously, “but not without telling them I’d be hanging out with a friend.”

“Hmm, good.” Then Torvald bites his lip, betraying some nerves. “Forgive me for any awkwardness, I didn’t think I’d actually get to see you so soon.”

“Same here, man.” Lance can’t even wipe the smile from his face. “But first meetings can be weird, and that’s cool, too. I don’t really care how awkward this gets, I’m really glad I got to see you in person.”

A deeper purple colours Torvald’s cheeks at that, and he says, “I’m glad I get to see you, too.” Then coughing into his hand, Torvald jerks his chin in the direction of the lake. “So, Leo, by all means, show me what you intend for us to do on this planet.”

“Did you bring a swimsuit?”

“Well, there are no hydro-suits for leisure at the fort, so I had to improvise. I’m currently wearing it.”

Lance stares at him, then down at his clothes. “Including the shirt?”

“Not necessarily. Should I remove it?” And Torvald untucks the loose tunic, briefly exposing his midriff.

“Wait!” Lance raises a hand to stop him, and at Torvald’s surprised expression he shakes his head. “Okay, yes, but over there.” And he waves to an area generally closer to the lake and further from himself. “I’m gonna change over here. In the grass.”

“Ah, yes. Let me leave you to your privacy.”

He tries not to watch as Torvald walks away, but Lance can’t help the stunned disbelief that this is actually happening. Quickly, he strips from his jeans and shoes, shimmying into his swim trunks. Removing his jacket, he takes his belongings to the sandy shore and lays them on a nearby rock where a folded grey shirt sits neatly. Torvald is already standing by the edge of the water, broad shoulders bare, wearing nothing but the fitted black pants.

Lance tries not to stare too long as he takes his shirt off, worrying at his lips. When he moves to stand beside Torvald he tries not to curl into himself, instead pulling his shoulders back and standing confidently. “Come on,” he says, and takes a step into the water. It’s cool against his flushed skin, and the first contact makes him shiver, but he settles into it by the time it’s up to his hips and he’s running his fingers through the rippling surface.

By his side, Torvald smiles, considering the careful way Lance stirs the water around him. “Did you grow up around bodies of water?”

“Yeah, I guess. Ever since I was a kid my family would go the beach during the summer. I learned how to swim in the ocean with my cousins—and it was a wild crash course—but when I got a hang of it we’d race all the time from the shore to a nearby cove. It was always a pretty close contest unless our uncles and aunts joined in.” Softening at the memory, he glances up. “You?”

Torvald shrugs. “Not really. I know how to swim, but that’s due to training in case of necessity or dire circumstances. Like a planet with a high water surface percentage or a crashed ship. Most areas I’ve lived in are deserts.”

“You ever swim for fun?”

“Didn’t have much time for it, no.”

Lance nods slowly, eyeing a small island in the center of the lake not too far away. “You consider yourself competitive?”

Torvald smirks. “Can one be competitive if they do nothing but win?”

Rolling his eyes, Lance cracks his neck. “Alright, sure, we’ll see about that.” Wading forward, he says, “First one to touch grass on that island gets bragging rights.” And before Torvald even gets far enough to tread water, Lance slaps the water so it splashes in his face.

“Leo!” Torvald gasps, sputtering, but Lance doesn’t even take the time to laugh, just dives.

The water is refreshingly cool as he carves his way through the waves, muscles working against idle tide. Behind him he can hear Torvald laughing, before there’s the distinct splash of him joining in. Every stroke through water sinks Lance deeper into something in himself he recognizes, and though he wants to settle and study what that might be, he surges onward, competition setting his pulse to a frenzy.

When he gets to shallow waters his limbs are a little sore, but when he hears Torvald not too far behind him, he gets to his feet and treads as quickly as he can through the surf. Looking over his shoulder, he sees silvery hair rise from the water and he immediately bolts.

The grass is much farther away than he’s expecting, and just when his hand slams down on the grass, a purple hand does so at the exact same time. 

“Come on!” Lance says, but he laughs all the same as he pushes his dripping hair out of his eyes, flopping down on the ground and collapsing on his back. 

“So, is that a draw?” Torvald pants, chest gleaming as he smiles down at Lance. “Or shall we say it doesn’t count because someone cheated?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” and he looks away, smirking as he catches his breath while the sun warms his skin. “I absolutely won.”

“Is that right?”

Then with alarming ease, Torvald bends down, curling his arms behind Lance’s back and under his knees before scooping him up like he’s weightless. Without much effort, he begins walking back to the water, while Lance, wide-eyed, grips Torvald’s firm shoulders and says warningly, “Torvald. Don’t you dare.”

“What would you prefer?”

“For you to put me down.”

A single silver brow arches over violet eyes, smirk growing wide. “As you wish.” Then gracefully Torvald raises both arms in front of him, lifting Lance without issue, before releasing him haphazardly into cold water.

_Splash!_

Sputtering, Lance brings his head above water the second he finds his footing, only to discover Torvald laughing loudly with his hands clutching his knees. Without hesitation, Lance tackles him, submerging them both. Beneath the surface, Lance sees Torvald’s surprised grin and the elastic securing his ponytail snapping. Silvery hair pools around them, shining white under the rippling sunlight breaking through the waves.

He shoots up, sucking in a breath and blinking water from his eyes. In front of him, Torvald sweeps his hair from his face, squeezing some of the water from it. Neither of them say anything as they look at each other, but something passes between them they don’t bring attention to. Instead, their eyes gleam and their smirks get challenging.

“Done so soon?” Torvald says playfully.

Sinking so his chin just dips into the water, Lance scoffs. “Oh, it’s on.”

 

 

 

 

They collapse on the opposite shore, tired from the races, the chasing, the stone-skipping competition. Though Lance’s muscles ache, his skin tingles and his blood courses with lingering adrenaline. He watches Torvald at the corner of his eye, the man framed gold by the setting sun. It’s not so much that they’ve been playing for so long, but the days on Z12-Korna-Get are decently short compared to Earth’s. Still, Lance is exhausted, but he knows it was worth it.

He forgot what it was like competing with someone, even just for fun. Keith rarely ever spares the time, their rivalry embarrassingly one-sided. There’s something so thrilling about someone who challenges him. Someone who wants to. At this point, Lance doesn’t even care if he loses all the time. Sure, it’s amazing to win, but the thrill of redefining his own limits is the real game-changer, especially with someone who’s enjoying themselves, too.

“Quiznack, I’m so pruny,” Lance snickers, staring at the pads of his fingers.

Beside him, Torvald stretches his limbs, massaging the aches. “I feel as if I’ve expended more energy today than I ever have working at the fort.”

“Oh? That tired, huh?” Lance teases.

Chuckling, Torvald shakes his head. He says, “On the contrary, I’m energized. It’s been pleasantly diverting.” Then turning to Lance, he adds, “Thank you for inviting me out today.”

“So formal, no need to thank me.” But Lance doesn’t hide the slight blush to his cheeks as he lies back, folding his arms behind his head. “Everyone needs time off y’know.”

“I’m beginning to agree,” Torvald sighs. “Back at the base, work and efficiency drive a lot of our practices. A lot of things have been lost due to my father’s short-sightedness and rigid authority, I’m surprised that everything he left me still functions.”

Unpacking his bag, Lance grabs the sandwiches that Hunk made earlier that morning and hands one to Torvald, who takes it gratefully. Lance takes a bite before saying, “You’ve kind of talked about it before, but I’m starting to wonder. Your dad, why was he in charge in the first place? It doesn’t sound like he’s done a good job.”

“That’s debatable, of course. In my eyes he brought his conglomerate to ruin, but that’s not the whole truth. He was smart, driven, and he had enough experience in the world to make valuable moves that were powerful and galaxy-changing. He had advisors who were wise who could’ve kept him on a more secure path if he listened, but he was selfish. He desired for himself and failed to acknowledge the full strength of his enemies.” When Torvald takes a slow bite of the sandwich, a little curious, his eyes widen just a bit. “This is delicious! Did you make this?”

“Oh, it wasn’t me, it was my friend. He’s a real genius when it comes to food. Plus, according to him the ingredients are affordable, so maybe I’ll tell you about it so you don’t drown in slop.” Taking another bite, he nods. “Anyway, continue.”

Torvald stops chewing and swallows. “So, as you say, _picture this_ : My father was ambitious. He had a lot of goals for those below him and those alongside him. Somewhere along the way he lost sight of that. I tried going against him, telling him that his methods were brutish and doing more harm than good, and he sent me away because I disobeyed.” His face darkens, upset by the memory. “I was left with nothing but my sisters and we trained, we grew, we educated ourselves to be better, and though I only made one slight against my father—though big it was—the second we returned we were considered dirt.”

Lance frowns. “What the fuck?”

“Indeed. So now we’re always working twice as hard as everyone around us just to be considered equal.” Torvald swallows his last bite, balling up the wrapper. “Not to mention I have fought to have my sisters by my side for years. No one else will stand for them or recognize they’re each worth more than ten of the strongest of my father’s devotees combined. We’re working to the bone to pick up our father’s mess and we rarely get breaks like this.” And he gestures to the lake and the field, the sky turning purple. “He wouldn’t stand for this kind of ‘delay’.”

“He clearly lost his sense of fun. Maybe if he took a break, things wouldn’t have been so bad.”

“Maybe.” Torvald sighs dolefully. “But there’s no way to know now.”

Lance takes the crumpled wrapper from Torvald and stuffs it into a pocket in his duffel bag. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

He worries at his lip. “What happened to him?” 

Eyes downcast, Torvald shrugs. His sharp features soften, brows furrowing just a bit. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, I’m just… I’m trying to figure out how to say it.” Then he lifts his chin, smiling reassuringly. “I guess the easiest way to describe is that he lost. His narrow-visioned greed, his carelessness, his disregard for his welfare and the welfare of his people, all of that defeated him. He can blame any amount of people he wants, but there’s no one else at fault but himself.”

“Is he… dead?”

Torvald shakes his head. “Not quite, but he’s as good as dead regardless. He chased something until it almost killed him, but now I’m not even sure what’s left of him, if anything.” Something crosses his eyes, something painful, and Lance feels a pang himself.

“I’m sorry.”

Startled, Torvald looks at him, confused. “What for? You didn’t do anything.”

“No, I guess… it’s just something my people say when we see someone hurt.”

“I’m not hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Torvald.” Lance doesn’t know how, but he knows he’s lying in his voice. The forced confidence, the uncertainty beneath. He recognizes it in himself. “I’d understand. He may not even be remotely decent, but he’s still your dad. You can be disappointed in more ways than just in his business tactics.”

At that, Torvald’s fists clench, knuckles whitening as he turns away and glares at the water. His jaw is tense, and his shoulders wind tight, but his violet eyes are wet despite the furious blaze behind them.

“I hated him,” he grinds out. 

“That’s normal.”

“And is it normal to hate him now, when he’s barely alive? For someone who claimed to know what’s best, he could only see so little. Then he has the audacity to fail so spectacularly that his son is forced to clean after him while he wastes away somewhere, taken care of because of his rank, not because of his worth. The second he fails they call me like it’s my job to fix his mess, after he discarded me to some unclaimed rock no less. And I’m supposed to be grateful?”

He’s said it many times, the fact that he’s cleaning up after his father, but this time it’s different. It’s less a dismissive statement, one said in practice, and now more one of pain. Lance blinks the stinging from his own eyes, reaching out and sliding his fingers over Torvald’s wrist. The man shivers at the contact, stunned, and watches as Lance lays a gentle hand on his fist.

Torvald continues. “I glimpsed it in others, saw what a good father could be. With all my privileges, that was one I was denied. If there was any love he offered, it is smothered by his atrocities.”

When Torvald looks up to meet Lance’s eyes, he sees his frustration mirrored there. Lance says, “Why do you stay then?”

And Torvald sighs, rubbing his neck. “Because the position he left me holds power that I never had before. If I can use it to do better than my father, prove that in my hands things can be better than they are now, maybe people will see that his way isn’t the only way.”

Lance says, without sugarcoating, “I know where you’re coming from, but that worries me.”

“How so?”

He shrugs. “Do you know what selling a soul to a demon means?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Okay, scratch that. Imagine a really bad monster king. He’s awful. An asshole. Does no good to anyone and not even himself. His throne is known for bad things. People expect bad things from him and anyone on his throne. All this bad joojoo sticks to this throne, and no matter how good a person is, the second they sit on it they get dirty. They get corrupted.”

“Are you saying I’ll corrupt?” Torvald’s eyes darken, but Lance doesn’t even get a chill. Instead, he steels his gaze and says—

“No, but I know you’re ambitious and I know you’re good. To change whatever system your dad had, you might do something you’ll regret.”

Torvald looks away, pulling his hand free. “Maybe, but I’ve never been good. That ship launched a long time ago. After all, I’m my father’s son.”

“But you are not your father.”

The man stiffens, chuckling humourlessly. “You don’t know that. You don’t know my father.”

“I know you, don’t I? Maybe not that well,” Lance stares at his hands, swallowing. “I don’t know what you might’ve done, or who you are beyond our calls, but I know that the man you’ve shown me is trying his hardest at a task he considers a burden. That he enjoys our calls as much as I do. And though there are many pieces we’re keeping from each other, I know that I like what I’ve discovered so far.”

“And what if you find out who I am beyond our calls and don’t like what you see?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, won’t we?” The sun is barely a sliver now, the sky above a deep indigo blinking with stars. “Hey, Torvald, look at me.”

It takes a moment, but Torvald finally does. His face is strained with emotion hiding behind a façade of indifference. Lance smiles at him reassuringly and says softly, “Did you know that outside of our calls I hate who I am?”At Torvald’s alarmed expression, Lance feels his whole body buzz with the urge to run, but he stays. He needs to stay. “I’m a liar who pretends everything’s alright when everything’s clearly falling apart. I’m a coward who can’t bear the idea of being caught in a weakness. I’d rather literally die than have anyone know what’s going on in my head, and I’d prefer to bear it all alone because I think everything that isn’t going right is just embarrassing.”

Saying it aloud is awful. It’s horrible. He wants to throw up in the grass and then drown in the lake, but he continues, staring at Torvald’s cheek instead of his eyes for fear of what he’ll see. 

“And all my friends? All of these amazing people I live with? Every day I’m haunted by the thought that they’d be better off without me holding them back. No matter how I look at it, if I were to leave and find someone suitable to fill my place, they’d have an easier life. But even though I’m convinced, and I know that it’s true, I’m deathly afraid of leaving.” He lets out a steady breath. “Where would I go? Who would I be? Though they don’t need my help, I know I need theirs, so selfishly I stay because I’m too quiznacking weak to do anything myself. In return, I make their lives difficult. If you knew that guy, I’m sure you’d hate him, too.”

Torvald is horrified, and Lance is pretty sure that’s how he looked not too long ago. His words are painful, but in his mouth they feel right. True. Hearing them said, especially from himself, makes him realize just how real those words are to him. How much they mean to him.

“Leo,” Torvald whispers. “That doesn’t sound—“

“True?” Lance suggests emptily. “Right? Fair? But it is, at least to me. You won’t be able to convince me otherwise, Torvald, if I can’t convince you that you’re not your father. You say you’re not good, and I say I’m worth nothing, but we’ll sit here and argue until we use up all the atmosphere, won’t we?”

And they stare, stubborn but wishing the other could see how they saw the other. At the same time they both look down, away from each other’s searching gaze, but then Torvald reaches out and takes Lance’s hand. This is a conversation for another day.

He sniffs and says, “Let’s get the oobar.”

 

 

 

 

They’ve flattened an eight-foot-square of grass to lie on, and Lance is surprised it’s soft enough to be a bed. It’s definitely softer than the bunk in his ship. They’re staring up at the dark night sky, discussing the stars and planets that twinkle above. Millions of white dots gather around one dark strip across the sky and Torvald explains that it’s the galaxy system, and tries to point out which bright speck is the base planet he came from.

Lance is only half-listening now, warm in the chest as he hugs the bottle of oobar to himself. For a while Torvald’s been trying to take it away from him, but Lance refuses to relinquish it, slurring about wanting something to hold onto. 

“I hope your sisters had a good time at their show,” Lance mumbles.

“Likely half of them genuinely did, only one of them will admit it, and the other two who got dragged along won’t complain anyway.”

Lance snorts, tilting his head as he studies the stars. “Sounds like my family.”

“The one back on your ship?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “The one back on my planet.”

“Hmm, you don’t talk that much about your home planet.”

“Neither do you,” Lance points out. 

“Well, last I checked my planet’s dead.”

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry, man,” and Lance sits up, swaying as he places an apologetic hand on Torvald’s arm. “That sounds rough.” Torvald laughs softly.

“It’s okay. It’s been years, and it wasn’t really home for me.” Sitting up, too, he takes his chance and snatches the oobar from Lance’s loosened grip, taking a deep swig. He blinks, shivering at the sweet, tingling burn down his throat. “You ever plan on going home? Seems like you really want to, if you’re looking at planets like it all the time.”

Lance shrugs, absentmindedly tearing grass from the earth and weaving them together. “I’d love to go home, but I can’t yet.”

“Why not?”

“I have a job. Y’know, _responsibilities_ , or whatever.” Frowning, he searches the grass, finding tiny white flowers amidst the tall stalks. 

“You can’t even visit?”

He pauses. “Actually, I never asked if I could. But when I think about it, it probably wouldn’t be safe for me to go there. I don’t wanna bring any attention to it, y’know?”

Torvald watches Lance’s steady fingers as he makes a simple circlet from the grass. “Assuming your job isn’t a safe one, then?”

“Oh, if only I had the time to explain.” Finishing the basic flower crown, Lance puts it on his own head, smirking at Torvald like he’s posing for a shot before taking the crown from his head and putting it on Torvald’s. It’s a little lopsided, but neither of them fix it. “Like, you know the galra?”

Torvald’s smile doesn’t fall, but he stiffens a little, looking away. “Yes.”

“Yeah, we’re worried the empire might come after our home, so we don’t really go back there. I haven’t heard news of anything happening yet, but I hope the silence is due to our absence.”

“I’m sorry,” he clears his throat, “that that’s the case.”

Lance shrugs. “It’s fine. Not like it’s your fault or anything.”

Silence. Then, “Leo, may I ask you something?”

His tone makes Lance look over, finding Torvald’s face pale and drawn. Brows furrowing, Lance says, “yeah, go ahead.”

“The galra,” he starts slowly, pulling the flower crown from his head and plucking one of the flowers. He stares at it, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger. “What do you think of them?”

“That’s a tough question, asking how I feel about the empire that’s colonizing galaxies and exploiting planets and their species.”

Torvald flinches, taking another gulp of oobar.

“But I dislike them as much as I think I should,” Lance says. 

“Can you elaborate?”

“Well, I hate them, sure. They kidnapped my friends and their family members, they hurt many people I’ve come to know, they’ve done so many unforgivable things that it would be stupid of me to try to make light of their crimes,” and he sighs, resting his cheek on his knee. “But they can’t all be like that.”

“After all you just said, I find it hard to believe you think that way.”

Lance shrugs. “From what I’ve heard, the galra weren’t always like this. Something happened, and now they’re the universe’s terrorists, but I don’t believe that every single galra thinks the same way Zarkon did. Their species isn’t a shared hive-mind, there’s individual thought. It’s not my place to just assume they’re all god-awful because their emperor was an asshole.”

Nodding slowly, Torvald lays the flower crown down in the space between them. Cheeks flushed with oobar, he meets Lance’s gaze with a sad but determined look on his face. “Leo, I need to tell you something.”

“Mhmm,” Lance leans in, resting his chin in his hand. “Fire away, Torvald.”

The other man fidgets, jaw clenching. “I’m… I don’t know if it was obvious to you already, but I’m—“

“Galra?” When Torvald blinks in surprise, Lance adds, squinting, “but you don’t quite look, like, full-galra. Are you half?”

“I believe I am, yes, but—wait—you’re not upset?” He looks incredulous.

Lance snorts, raising a brow. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” He grabs the oobar and downs the last swallow, before looking Torvald in the eye. “Dude, you’re _purple_. I don’t know many purple aliens, so I had a hunch, but who am I to judge?” 

“Leo—“

“Hey, chillax,” Lance grabs Torvald’s shoulder. “We’re keeping a whole load of secrets from each other, right?” The man nods slowly. “It’s fine. Just answer me this: you’re pretty high-ranked, right?”

He gulps, answering, “Yes.”

“Well, I’m a pretty high-ranked fighter pilot in a rebellion against you. Are you gonna kill me? Now would be a good time, I’m pretty quiznacking drunk.”

Torvald’s relief at the lighter tone is palpable, and his small smile is grateful. “How do you know I won’t?”

Dramatically looking at the area around them, at their bags previously filled with clothes and food, he says, “you armed?”

“Perhaps.”

“Man, I could beat you with my hands tied behind my back, armed or not.” And he playfully punches Torvald in the shoulder. 

“Is that so?”

“Guaranteed.” Then he slowly lays down on the soft grass, trying not to wobble too much. The oobar makes him feel a little numb, but he smiles through it while Torvald looks down at him in pleasant disbelief. “What?”

He shakes his head. “I thought perhaps I’d lose a starmate on the basis that I’m galra. When I met Sora she said I was struggling, that I felt out of place. I didn’t expect her to be right when she said I could find a friend beyond my species. I thought being what I am forbade me from that.”

Lance stretches, folding his arms under his head with a smile. “Well, clearly not.”

Torvald laughs, shaking his head. “I’ll admit I was far too nervous meeting you today. I thought that maybe you’d run the second you saw me, or maybe after when I told you. I considered not saying anything, but I didn’t want to keep that part of me a secret from you, especially if I wanted to maintain a friendship.”

“I’m not a friend worth having if I didn’t accept that, man.” Lance says. “I thought you’d be disappointed in what you found when you met me.”

“Never, Leo.” And Torvald lies down next to him. “You’ve exceeded my expectations.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

Snorting, Torvald turns to him and asks, bemused, “what for?”

“So I have proof?” Lance laughs, unfolding his arms and letting them rest beside him. His left hand lands in the circle of the flower crown, and he fiddles with the loose grass. “I told my friends I was out on a date, I want to be able to go back with proof that you enjoyed my company.”

“They won’t believe you?”

“They’ll think I flew around alone for a couple of hours to eat up time! Not that I spent it with an attractive guy on a remote planet six vargas away.” Lance doesn’t look at Torvald laughing beside him, blushing deeply himself.

“That’s a shame! They underestimate you, Leo.”

“That’s what I always say! Who can deny this handsome mug?”

Recovering from his restrained giggles, Torvald says, “Forgive my ignorance, but what exactly is a ‘date’?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t think so.”

“I’ve been talking about dates for the past four vargas.” 

“Maybe we have a different word for what this ‘date’ is? What it is to you is certainly a mystery to me.”

Lance scratches his chin. “Uh, well, back where I’m from, a date is when two people who like each other hang out for a while, like watch movies, get lunch, go stargazing,” and he gestures at the sky in example, “and they do intimate things sometimes, like hug, kiss, or hold hands. It’s usually under the pretence of a romance, but…”

He trails off, glancing down. Torvald’s tentatively taking his hand, rubbing his thumb over Lance’s knuckles. “Like this?” He asks quietly. Curiously.

Lance’s face is hot, stunned almost to silence. It’s not like they haven’t touched each other at all this whole day. The chaos in the water when they were both half-naked is an example of that, and not a minute ago he’d had his hand on Torvald’s shoulder, but this is different. He nearly chokes out, “Yeah. Kind of like that.”

“Kind of?” Torvald looks up. His cheeks are flushed deep, but his violet gaze is unwavering.

“It’s usually more like…” And Lance laces their fingers together. “Like that.”

“Hmm,” and the other man lifts their clasped hands and studies them. He smiles.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Torvald says, resting their still intertwined hands in the middle of the flower crown. “I don’t think the galra have a word for dates.”

“What _do_ you have, then?” Lance asks, trying to ignore the way his heart flutters in his chest. 

“Courting rituals, I suppose. Phoebs worth of favours, gifts, and trials.”

“Sounds a little complicated.” He yawns.

“For the right person, it’s always worth it.” And Torvald glances over. “Tired?”

Lance shrugs, blinking.

“Less than six vargas on a ship isn’t a very long time to rest. You should get some sleep.”

“Not yet,” Lance insists, forgetting his buzzing cheeks.

Torvald chuckles. “And why not?”

“Because they day will end when I do.” Then he looks at Torvald, conveying as much as he can through his tired eyes. “It’s like I’m dreaming, y’know. I actually got to see you in person. If I fall asleep—“

“I’ll still be here,” Torvald promises. 

Lance studies his face, swallowing. “For real?”

“For real.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A title I was considering for this chapter: "Stars, mates, and kind-of dates?" 
> 
> Then there's: "Crush? Bro? Fuck, I don't know."
> 
> "Foes before Bros"
> 
> HA Stop me.
> 
> I'll edit this soon for minor errors or whatever, but HERE. *confetti*


	6. Purple Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I should probably make it clear that at in this AU Keith doesn't know he's half-galra yet. Keep that in mind going forward, but my bad. Also, Lance is 18.
> 
> (；・∀・)
> 
> Anyway, here's Lotor. I didn't wanna rehash everything that happened in the previous chapter, so this chapter isn't everything again in Lotor's POV. There's a little bit of new stuff. I know this chapter isn't as long as my usual ones, but I hope y'all like it anyway!

He hears it before he sees it, the pop of Acxa’s ship breaking through atmosphere and flying in his direction. Frowning, Lotor glances over at Leo hoping the man won’t wake up, and is pleased to find him still snoring softly, fingers loosening but still intertwined with his own. The sky above them is still dark, flushed with stars, but it’s only been a few vargas since the sun set. Not so tired himself, he contemplates the day, wondering how he’ll explain it to his sister, if he does at all.

Waiting alone by the lake before Leo showed up was nerve-wracking, as he was unsure how to act and uncertain what to say, but then he saw the alien ship land bumpily in the field behind him and a figure dart out hurriedly. All his worries vanished, relief taking its place, and Lotor’s heart had seized, jumping to his throat. _Is that…?_ Unable to stop himself, he reached down and spun his bracelet and saw the stranger lift his wrist, a band of silver shining under golden sunlight.

Leo looks somewhat like himself, but with brown skin and dark hair and a curious smile under sharp blue eyes. Frankly, he looks a little more altean, though his ears are round, which is a little odd but not horrendous. The general assortment of features reminded him of something, maybe some prisoners he’s seen before, but there’s been so many prisoners he’s seen while growing up that he can’t quite place the familiarity. From Leo’s posture and the way he fidgets it’s apparent that he’s nervous, so Lotor tries not to stare too long despite the curiousity. He can’t help it—this is the starmate he’s been talking to for more than a phoeb now, why wouldn’t he want a moment to let reality set in?

But one can’t spend vargas staring at a beautiful stranger, there’s the matter of getting to know each other again but in a new light. Thus there’s the friendly competition between them at the lake. A couple times Lotor isn’t sure what to do, has to hold back some of his strength, but every time Leo calls him on his restraint, demands full participation—and though this leads to most of Lotor’s wins—Leo is more delighted than infuriated. Which is refreshing. A defeat that doesn’t lead to submission but instead another challenge.

Lotor isn’t sure what it is about Leo, but there’s a pull to him. A gravity. Lotor is wrapped in secrets, but every second in Leo’s orbit, he unravels just a bit. He admits far more than he intends to because when Leo asks, Lotor knows there’s nothing to be afraid of. There’s no ulterior motive. There’s just two men by a lake with nothing to learn about but each other.

Every word that falls from his lips is another scar revealed, and with each he expects Leo to make nervous, polite excuses before making a quick escape. But that doesn’t happen. Instead Lotor finds genuine concern for his own wellbeing and questions he’s beginning to ask about who he is, when back home the only questions he’s faced with amount to whether or not he’ll be useful. Which gets tiresome.

With a sigh, he rises without disturbing Leo and makes his way over to Acxa’s ship to hear the question—

“When do you plan on returning?” Her expression is stern, feet planted firmly on the grass as she stands at the end of the disembarking ramp. Here, in her galran armour, she looks out of place, a spot of war in an untouched landscape. As soon as she returned from the theatre she’d apparently changed her clothes, her break over and duty restarted, her dark blue hair now tucked from her face, pleated tightly and bound.

Lotor doesn’t answer her question, instead asking back, “How was the show?”

Acxa purses her lips, sighing through her nose. “Musical theatre isn’t exactly my entertainment of choice, but Ezor loved it. The… surprisingly elaborate choreography was definitely a point of interest.”

He laughs at her reluctant compliment. “Ah, it was that impressive?”

“I didn’t say that.” Her eyes quickly glance from Lotor to the spot in the grass where Leo sleeps. “And your appointment? How did it go?”

Lotor looks over his shoulder, unable to contain the smile. “I’d say it went well.”

“Hmm,” she nods, the tension in her shoulders falling away. Then her hands, which were originally on her hips by her weapons, tuck behind her. “That’s good.”

“Were you planning on killing him if it went poorly?”

“No,” She lies. “It would just be a shame if you wasted your time.”

He laughs. “I agree.”

“What exactly is there to do here?” She asks, studying their surroundings. “I don’t understand why he asked you to meet him in this kind of place.”

Lotor shrugs, smiling to himself. What's happened is their little secret. Then clearing his throat, he lifts his chin and, with a stern tone, says, “Anything to report?”

Sighing, Acxa brushes back a loose strand of hair. “Since the successful delivery, there’s been a bit of trouble with unloading the asset, which is understandable. Any simple machine running on anything but quintessence malfunctions in its effect radius, and this includes all vehicles designed to tow cargo of similar size and weight. So far it’s been kept in the unloading bay in the crate designed by the druids so it doesn’t impair our other devices.”

“That’s fine. Anything else?”

“In your absence there’s been some discussion about progress on the project, but without any way to move the asset there’s talk of delay. We’re considering moving it using our own manpower, but it would require vast numbers. Someone suggested prisoners, but we’ve deterred that train of thought.”

“Good.”

“Currently Ezor has written up a request for the help of druids, but it’s unlikely that’ll lead to anything, since the witch has her own projects and it’s doubtful she’ll lend us a hand again.” Pausing, Acxa reaches down and flicks a bug off her knee. “So at the moment we’re waiting for your return, but if you have any instruction I can take back, that would suffice. And one more thing.” Now she straightens, eyes darkening as she meets Lotor’s gaze. “A late transmission came in while we were away, not from any of our galran sources.”

At her change in tone, Lotor raises a brow. “And where was it from?”

“The Welve Outpost, Kreidel Sector fourteen.”

His eyes narrow. “This is one of the outposts the asset stopped at, correct?”

Acxa nods. “The security at Welve submitted a report along with the cargo, but the owners at Welve transmitted it separately. And late. Likely out of fear.”

“And what did the report say?”

“That the cargo was accessed within the couple vargas it took our couriers to repair and refuel, and by skilled hackers. The crate minimizing the shut-down effect was discovered open, but not the secondary container.”

Lotor sighs through his nose, but his worries still rattle in the back of his mind. “So whatever devices they used to breach our barriers malfunctioned past that. Do they have any idea who did it?”

Acxa frowns, recalling the transmission. “They provided a list of suspects. The Welve isn’t going to look into them, though they did pay attention to those who arrived before and departed soon after the breach.”

“Anyone interesting?”

“There are two unidentified dockers who didn’t appear to have business at the Welve and left without carrying any visible package, but the documentation at the outpost is average at best and we don’t have any flight identification to follow up on. It’ll be difficult to track them if they went anywhere else, but I can alert surrounding colonies of their descriptions as well as descriptions of the other suspects.”

Lotor stares out at the horizon, sucking his lips between his teeth. “How long ago was this transmission sent?” 

“A couple spicolian movements ago.”

He grimaces. “And has any talk about the asset been heard on any frequencies outside galran lines?”

“Before I came here, no, but we’ve charged our best to sift through outlier frequencies just in case.”

Combing his hair back from his face, Lotor pauses to think. It’ll be troublesome if word gets out about an unknown asset with the capability of disrupting surrounding tech, but if no transmissions about it are heard beyond their own communications, it should be fine. But it’s good to be cautious.

He clears his throat. “Send out alerts describing the suspects but give them different crimes, and if we hear anything back of interest, cast a dragnet. We still need to keep our operation discreet, and I don’t want the witch to think we’ve faulted already.”

“Understood,” Acxa bows her head an inch before straightening. “And when should we expect you back?”

Lotor glances over to Leo, then to the purple sky. “A few more vargas,” he says softly. “I’ll alert you when I’m on my way.”

At the corner of his eye he notices Acxa studying him, the corner of her mouth quirking. “Until then, Emperor Pro Tem.”

Her departure is quiet, breaking atmosphere further away. The walk back to Leo is quieter, with Lotor deep in thought.

Leo said he was part of a rebellion against him, so should Lotor suspect Leo might have a hand in the break-in at Welve Outpost? He might not have been there personally—having admitted many times he’s not much of a hacker himself—but a companion of his might’ve been there. If Leo is part of it, what should Lotor do? It’s not like Leo knows to what degree Lotor should be his enemy, and it’s not like Lotor isn’t rebelling in his own way, but this project… it’s important. Vastly important. If Leo were standing in his way, what would he do?

He couldn’t kill him. There’s a reason Lotor didn’t bring any weapons with him past his space pod. Thinking back, he could’ve just said to Leo, “I’m the galran empire’s prince.” But that’s too extreme. It’s another step into territory that’ll likely drive Leo away, and that possibility is hard to picture. He doesn’t want to picture it. It’s scary to imagine the day that Leo might look at him with hate when Lotor’s only today discovered what it’s like to be looked at in pleasant surprise.

Is it inevitable, he wonders, that they will see each other on opposite sides of a battlefield? When he returns to his base, should he alert everyone to an additional rebellion against them, or should he pretend he heard nothing?

Crouching by where Leo sleeps, Lotor rests his cheek on his knuckles, considering the resting soul that’s accepted all of what he’s so far revealed.

“Should we ignore our opposition?” Lotor whispers. “And how long can we manage before it’s unforgivable?”

As if hearing him, Leo’s face pinches in the middle of a snore, hand splaying over the spot where Lotor lay. His fingers stretch, searching, before gripping the grass loosely. 

Lotor knows deep down he shouldn’t ignore that they’re on opposite sides of the war, but Leo—starmate or not—is more valuable than any golden bracelet or machine disrupting asset. He’s a loyal friend, fun and complex, and in the time they’ve known each other, someone that Lotor can’t imagine parting with. He decides that until the universe tears them apart, or Leo finally lets go, he will hold on to what is here with all his might.

Taking Leo’s hand again and clutching it firmly, he lays down next to him and shuts his eyes to get some sleep, hoping that when the sun rises it’ll be to a more hopeful day, and that his thoughts will have cleared of all these questions.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might slow or speed up depending on certain things because my summer courses have started. I might procrastinate my classes and write this, or focus on classes and not update for a while. So just a heads up! I'll be gone for a bit (-ω-ゞ 
> 
> If you wanna follow me anywhere else to know what's going on in my life or to see what else I'm up to, you can follow me on twitter @thealeksdemon


	7. Stubborn

It’s the warmth of the sun that wakes Lance, pulling him out of a dreamless sleep into a blinding morning. He presses his forehead to the grass beneath him, squeezing his eyes shut against the light while birds sing the day awake. It takes almost a whole minute for him to remember where he is, surprised by the breeze in his hair and the smell of earth. 

When he remembers, he feels his face warm up. Slowly, he turns his head to find his starmate sleeping next to him, neither a figment of his imagination or a lie.

Torvald, to Lance’s disappointment, barely snores, but whatever perfection maintained throughout yesterday is betrayed by the way his silver hair pools around his head in a tangled mess. His clothes, so pristine and crisp even after the swim in the lake, now twist around him uncomfortably. The hem of his shirt has ridden so high, Lance has full view of Torvald’s bare stomach, and he curiously takes a moment to eye the spot where a bellybutton _would_ be if Torvald was human, but jolts out of his absentminded stare when Torvald rolls over, still deep asleep.

A little embarrassed, Lance flips over to look at the sky. He studies the placement of the sun and starts counting on his fingers how long he’s been asleep according to the planet’s day. When he figures out it’s been maybe ten hours, he sits up and shouts—

“Shit!”

This rips Torvald from his slumber, fists propped up in a defensive posture almost immediately. When he sees only empty fields and bright blue water, he shakes himself. 

“Sorry, Torvald,” Lance breathes, wincing against a brewing headache that strengthens as he starts collecting his things. All his stuff is scattered haphazardly, and silently he blames drunk-Lance for all of it. 

“What’s happening?” Torvald asks, slowly rising to his knees and blinking wearily. He stares at Lance’s shuffling figure as if trying to understand what he’s doing. “Are you late?”

Lance shrugs, unsure. “I don’t know? Probably. I, uh, I told everyone I’d only be gone a day, but I’m pretty sure it’s been longer than that.” He snatches his jacket where it’s folded on the ground, shaking it out before shoving his arms through the sleeves. “They’re gonna be _pissed_. They’re going to tear me a new one. Quiznack, I should have set an alarm or something—“

“ _Hey_ , hey,” Torvald reaches over, gently taking Lance’s elbow and tugging him softly back to earth. “Slow down. Oobar hangovers can get pretty bad if you move around too much when you just wake up.”

On cue, Lance’s vision starts to sway, and suddenly he’s very glad to be kneeling. “H-how bad do they get? I’ve only ever had sips of the stuff, not like last night.”

“Well, unless you want your vision to go purple permanently, I suggest just breathing for a second.” And Torvald adjusts his own clothes, tugging at the creases. Amused, he adds,“Honestly, with the way you’re rushing it feels like _you’re_ the heir to a conglomerate taking an impromptu day off, not me.”

“Ha!” Lance’s shoulders unwind as he laughs through his nose. “Maybe, but that makes me wonder why _you’re_ not in a rush.”

Torvald merely shrugs at that. He asks, “How’d you sleep?”

“Good, actually.” Which leaves Lance a little surprised. “You?”

“Not bad,” Torvald yawns, stretching. “I’ve built up a tolerance for oobar, so it doesn’t hit as hard as it used to, but the headaches maintain to be a completely different obstacle.”

“I can imagine,” Lance smiles, wincing at his own migraine. He settles down to let the worst of it pass, finding himself staring at the long stalks of grass swaying with the breeze. The fresh air is so sweet he can’t bear to remind himself he’ll soon be back in a confining cruise pod surrounded by space and speckled starlight too far apart. There will be no sense of day, no sunshine, nothing other than what his body clock remembers. The idea makes him nauseous.

“What’s wrong?” 

Lance fidgets, turning to Torvald. Did his reluctance show on his face? For a second Lance worries at his bottom lip, unsure what to say or how to say it, but eventually he settles on, “I kind of don’t wanna go back.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugs. “A part of me just doesn’t want to. I kind of… want to stay here. Out in the open.”

From Torvald’s expression, it’s clear he doesn’t blame him. The planet is beautiful, the open space liberating, and here where they have peace, they’re failing no one. 

“It would be nice if we could, huh?” Torvald says softly. “One day, perhaps, we can come here again.”

Lance smiles to himself. “I’d like that.”

Later, after checking each of the cruise pod’s mechanisms to make sure they’re all functioning properly, Lance loads his stuff inside and quickly runs back out. There, Torvald waits by his own ship, fiddling with something in his hands, but when Lance approaches, he hides it behind his back. Curiousity fades as soon as Lance meets Torvald’s eyes, seeing the obvious gloom.

“What’s wrong?” Lance raises a brow, tilting his head.

“I worry that our calls will fall short, now that I’ve spoken to you in person,” Torvald sighs.

Laughing, Lance pats Torvald’s shoulder and says, “We’ll find time to hang out in person again. Maybe next time you choose the place.”

“I’m afraid almost every place I can think of is war-torn or bland compared to this.”

“Really?”

“Unfortunately.” 

“You don’t take many vacations, huh.”

“The empire has likely erased that word from our cultural vocabulary.” After breathing out a laugh, he pauses, biting his lip. “But… there is maybe one place I can take you someday.”

Lance’s eyes light up, interest piqued with the secrecy in Torvald’s voice. “Yeah? Spill.”

At his eagerness, Torvald raises his hands and says, “I can’t bring you anytime soon.”

“Well, there’s no rush.” 

“I’ve also been pretty busy lately, so likely only when the war ends.” 

“Oh.”

With that, there’s an obvious falter in the mood between them. Lance looks down. Torvald rubs the back of his neck. For a second, they stand in thoughtful silence. 

_Yes. The war that’s happening right now._

Lance lifts his chin. “So, when one side wins, the trip’s probability goes up?” Setting his shoulders, Lance gathers all his sober bravery and says, “Torvald, last night I didn’t exactly ask—since it didn’t really cross my oobar-fied mind—but what side _are_ you on?”

As if fearing this question, Torvald looks away, the movement quick enough to almost hide the wince. “I am not aligned with a lot of the empire’s values…”

“But?”

“I can’t risk too much upheaval in the position I’m in.”

And Lance adds in the words Torvald won’t say, “because you can’t lose the position you have. Right?” The quiet is tense, almost suffocating. He swallows, finds Torvald’s violet eyes, and asks, “I know you’re trying to do better, and I don’t know how much power you have, but are you trying to do _good_?”

Torvald’s gaze is pained as he says, “I’m trying to fix what my father broke.”

Both of them know that isn’t an answer. Maybe it’s too early to be talking about this. Even though Lance doesn’t know for sure how much _ethical_ good Torvald is doing, he has the sense they don’t exactly have opposing beliefs. They’re just doing what they can on the sides that they’re on, and trying not to get themselves killed.

“Okay.” Lance nods. He smiles a bit awkwardly. “I hope I don’t see you fucking things up where I get sent on missions, because then I won’t have a choice but to whoop your ass.”

Torvald sputters a laugh, and the sound relieves the tension between them like unraveling a knot. “Dear Leo, you can try.”

“Hey, I can!” And Lance playfully punches Torvald’s arm. “If we had more time, I’d show you.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?”

The melancholic look on Torvald’s face is crushing. Something bubbles up in Lance and unable to hold back, he bursts, “Damn it, come here.” And he pulls Torvald into a hug, one arm circling over his shoulder, the other by his waist. He surprises himself, but it takes three seconds for the shock to pass before Torvald hugs him back, squeezing firmly.

“We’ll figure it out,” Lance promises. “It’d be stupid to find my starmate and then lose him because of a war neither of us started, right?”

When Torvald chuckles, it vibrates through his chest. Shivering, Lance almost doesn’t hear it when Torvald says, “It’d be a shame to lose you, too.” 

And they pull away. They say their goodbyes. Lance tries not to stare too long as he waves while turning away, dragging his feet as he boards his own cruise pod. Just as the disembarking ramp clicks closed, a single buzz bursts from his silver bracelet. In response, Lance spins his bracelet once, knowing Torvald will get a vibration back.

Sitting down at the controls with a huff, he goes through the motions he’s so used to and feels the familiar jostling as the ship takes off. He finds his gaze following Torvald’s ship, so angular, sharp, and camouflaged to hide what empire it belongs to as it zips off into the sky. Lance might be watching to pinpoint what direction Torvald’s flying in, maybe to figure something out about what the galra are up to, but Lance knows that’s not why he’s staring.

After the pull from the day before, the draw he felt in Torvald’s proximity, flying in opposite directions feels wrong. Maybe the theory about starmates having a gravitational pull might have some merit after all. 

He can’t wait to tell his friends all about it—minus all the galra stuff, of course.

 

 

 

 

When Lance gets back to the castleship, two individuals await him at the docking bay. By their postures, he can tell they’re both very nervous, and recognizing their worry erases all excitement in his head and replaces it with dread. He barely registers shutting down the cruise pod as questions race through his mind. _Am I in trouble? How mad will they be? What kind of lecture am I in for?_ Swallowing, Lance braces himself and shuffles down the unloading ramp, blood rushing out of his head and down to his stomach.

Both Hunk and Pidge look a little disheveled, like they haven’t gotten much sleep since the last Lance saw either of them. _Did I miss a mission? Did they need to form Voltron while I wasn’t here? Were they ambushed?_ He didn’t see any damage on the outside of the ship, but that doesn’t mean something else hasn’t happened.

Before he can sputter any of these questions aloud, Pidge says gloomily, “You should’ve stayed on your date a while longer.”

“Huh?” He tenses. “Why?”

Clearly stressed, she smiles thinly. “Let’s just say one princess and one emo recluse have been arguing for the past, I don’t know, fifteen hours? It hasn’t been good.”

Lance’s brows furrow, confused, but still not relieved. “Exactly what happened while I was out?”

“Well, Keith found something on the Black Lion’s logs,” Hunk sighs, beginning to walk out of the docking bay with Pidge and Lance in tow. “Do you remember when Shiro was trying to find the galra who saved him? The one who got him out when he was the Champion, some doctor named Ulaz?”

“Yeah,” Lance nods, though the memory is a little jumbled, mostly remembering the arguments that went down that day and how stubborn Allura was about _not_ pursuing the lead.

“Well… Shiro found him.”

“He _what?_ ”

Pidge nods, says, “Uhuh. Used the coordinates in his arm and, on a solo trip, went looking.”

“Wait a tick—when the quiznack did he do that?” Lance rewinds his memory, looking back on those days to figure out just when their leader could’ve slipped out.

She shrugs. “No clue, but he managed to do it so Allura or Coran didn’t find out. After he met up with this Ulaz guy, Shiro recorded a video log about what he did, what they talked about, and then mentioned something about how the blade Ulaz carried closely resembles that knife that Keith has…”

“The same knife he’s had since forever?” Lance asks incredulously.

“Yup. Exact same,” Hunk sighs.

Pidge looks up at Lance, asking slowly with a hesitant look in her eye, “Wanna watch it?”

“Shiro’s video?” Lance gulps. A video made by a man who’s missing, or likely dead?

“Yeah, before we drag you into the ring to watch Keith and Allura rip each other’s throats out.”

Fidgeting with his bag, he says uncertainly, “Sure, I’ll just drop off my stuff first.”

Now sitting in his room with Hunk at his side, he watches Pidge pull out her laptop and set it on his desk. “Didn’t take too long to download the file,” she mumbles quietly. Her hands shake a little as she types out her password. “Keith let me, to see if I could get anything from it. There’s nothing but the recording. I can’t determine any coordinates from where he filmed it, or when.”

After she quickly taps her spacebar, she shuffles to sit next to Lance and suddenly it’s like having movie nights again, where they’re watching weirdly entertaining alien movies, not a fidgety video made by a friend who isn’t there. The second Lance sees Shiro’s face, he can’t help the sharp inhale and the ache in his chest. On either side of him, Hunk and Pidge tense up, too. They’re all holding their breaths.

Shiro’s voice lags behind the video by a fraction of a tick, but none of them pay attention to that as they watch their late-leader sit back in his chair, posture straight and expression stern. He looks tired, but he smiles, and after a dobosh he laughs. A soft chuckle that’s so familiar that Lance feels a wave of grief wash through him.

Crackling through the video, Shiro’s voice says, “ _The princess will be furious if she finds out where I went tonight. It’s rare enough that we get time off, but… I couldn’t rest without knowing what happened to Ulaz. That man saved me and I owe him, galra or not. I hope someday she understands. I know being enslaved and thrown into fighting rings isn’t exactly the same as losing your entire species, but…_ ” Fidgeting with something offscreen, he adds, “ _Never mind. Anyways, Ulaz mentioned something about the Blade of Marmora? It’s a galra resistance he’s a member of. I’d like to look into their alliance someday. It might change the tide of the war, and there’s nothing wrong with more allies, y’know._ ”

Then his posture relaxes, his expression thoughtful as he rubs his chin. “ _Another thing I noticed. The blade Ulaz carried… it looks kind of like the dagger that Keith carries around with him. Not the same size, but there’s a resemblance in the shape and symbol. As far as I can tell, the blade seems to be exclusive to the Blade of Marmora, but I know Keith has had his dagger since he was a kid. Maybe there’s a connection. I’d like to explore it later, if things work out._ ” Shiro smiles again, but this time it’s polite as he turns to the camera. “ _That’s all I have for today. This is Takashi Shirogane, a.k.a. Shiro, black paladin of Voltron. End recording._ ” 

Click. The video ends too soon. His face is paused in the middle of a tired smile, his eyes bright despite being strained from lack of sleep. Pidge dismisses herself for a moment, sniffling, while Hunk turns to Lance. He says, “You okay?”

Lance is staring at the computer screen, speechless. A part of him feels like throwing up, but the other wants to lie down and pause time itself for just a moment. There’s an urge to reach into the screen and pull Shiro out, to ask him where he’s been and whether or not they should keep looking for him. To see him so alive in a video, when in reality Lance can’t find him and confirm it, is nauseating. It’s unfair. 

Eventually Pidge walks back into the room, eyes puffy behind her glasses while she purses her lips and closes her laptop. Before the door shuts, distant yelling echoes down the hall.

“To catch you up to speed,” she says, voice breaking, “Keith wants to find the Marmora Blade people, and Allura does not.”

“That’s why they’re fighting?”

“Yep, and it seems they’ve just finished catching their breath.”

Lance sighs. “Where are they?”

 

 

 

 

Standing at the entrance to the control deck is Coran, peering inside and shifting his weight uneasily. When he spots the three of them arriving, he seems relieved to have company again.

“Ah, Number Three, welcome back,” he greets, though the nervousness underlying his voice is clear. “How was the date?”

“Pretty good.” Lance peeks into the control deck through the crack in the door, spotting Keith and Allura glowering at each other from opposite sides of the room. They appear to be catching their breath. Again. Both of them are so red in the face, Lance is surprised neither of them have burst. H e adds sighing, “but I guess right now isn’t the time to fill you in, huh?”

Coran shakes his head. “Seems to be the case, yes.”

Next to them, Pidge puts her hands on her hips. “And you’re just standing out here, why?”

The altean smiles nervously. “Let’s just say the tension in the room is… palpable.”

From inside, Keith’s voice comes through. “Why not?” Everyone in the corridor jumps, and immediately they’re watching the room with nervous interest.

“Because,” Allura begins through clenched teeth, giving away the fact she’s about to repeat something she’s been saying over and over again with dwindling patience, “We can’t be sure what you’ll find. It’s been a couple phoebs since our last fight with Zarkon, and if the Blade of Marmora did not show to help us then, I doubt they’ll help us now—if they’re still operating at all.”

“And what’s the harm in checking to make sure?” Keith challenges. “Shiro thought it was worth looking into, and from what he said in his video, they might have answers about where my knife came from.”

“Answers, or tall tales?” Allura crosses her arms, eyes narrowed. “Shiro might have trusted Ulaz, but that doesn’t mean this galran resistance is inherently trustworthy. I won’t allow for an expedition to confirm the words of a galra I’ve never met.”

“And how about confirming what Shiro believed?”

Allura flinches, turning away. “My vote remains the same in regards to following the coordinates Shiro saved. It might be a trap.”

Lance, curious, turns to Hunk and whispers, “You guys got coordinates?”

“Yeah. Besides the video, he had a logbook that was kinda cryptic. It took a while to decipher what he wrote. Lots of shorthand.”

“We don’t know if it _is_ a trap!” Keith yells in exasperation. Lance immediately turns back to the room, eyes wide. “The coordinates point to a spot between two black holes!”

“And that _doesn’t_ sound like a trap to you?”

“It sounds like a really good spot for a base if you don’t want anyone bothering you, yeah.”

Allura shakes her head, beginning to pace. Her expression is set, reluctant to waver. “I still doubt this resistance even exists.”

“Why?” Keith’s brows furrow. “Because all galra are the same to you?”

She flashes him a glare so furious, Lance worries she’ll close the space between them and strangle him. “And you’re insinuating what exactly?”

Clenching his jaw, Keith says, “I don’t think you need me to explain.”

Lance winces at that, and next to him Pidge lets out of a soft, “Ouch.” Inside the room, Allura’s eye twitches. At any other time, she would’ve snapped back, horrified by the accusation, but Lance can tell that both Allura and Keith are tired from the arguing. Reluctant to give in, but too exhausted to manage a shouting match.

Allura sighs, saying, “It clearly doesn’t matter what I think. Why even bother asking me?” She circles back to her station, finger tapping her forearm impatiently. “You could’ve just as well left and come back afterward for this argument. What is it they say, ‘better to ask for forgiveness than permission’?”

Sighing through his nose, Keith says, “Clearly, what you think mattered to Shiro.” Allura stiffens. “And he wanted your support on this. You might not trust the galra, but didn’t you trust him?”

Her eyes shut. Her grip on her arms tighten. “Of course I did. I still _do_.”

“Then why not?” Keith’s question comes back, an accusing echo of the past few hours. “Shiro never got to confirm the Blade of Marmora’s alliance, but _we_ still can. At least let us finish this for him.”

Allura looks at him, brows furrowed over sad eyes, but the expression is gone just like that. Shoulders slumping, she grips the edge of her control display and hangs her head. It takes a moment for her to say, “Just… let me think about it. Let me sleep on it.”

Keith inhales, looks like he’s about to say something with brash impatience, but suddenly Lance steels himself and shoves open the door.

“Guess who’s back!” He shouts, even as hands grapple at him from behind to pull him back. Sweat beading on his brow, he feigns innocence to the tension in the room and says, “You guys wouldn’t believe how quiznacking awesome my date was.”

Both Allura and Keith jump at his sudden entry, awkwardly shifting their weight as if caught in indecent circumstances. Though there is relief at his intrusion, their gazes are heavy, and Lance can’t help feeling scrutinized.

“Welcome back, Lance,” Allura says with a tight smile, straightening herself and adjusting her clothes. “I believe it’s been a little bit longer than a day, hasn’t it?”

“What can I say?” Lance shrugs animatedly, ignoring the sweat on his brow as he glances away. “My date couldn’t get enough of me.”

“I suppose we’ll hear all about it over dinner, hm?”

Lance winks. “You betcha.”

They don’t, though. Dinner is almost dead silent, save for the clinking of cutlery on plates. Most of the conversation surrounded the meal itself, since Hunk managed a really delicious substitute for stir-fry with an unpronounceable source of protein and several familiar-looking vegetable-things. Otherwise, the tension and exhaustion in the room remains palpable. It reminds Lance of the first few meals after Shiro’s disappearance; not really wanting to converse with each other, but sticking to group meals merely on principle.

In this kind of atmosphere, talking about Torvald and their wonderful ‘date’ would be tactless, and Lance doesn’t want to be telling stories to people who don’t really have the mind to hear it. Maybe he could go through with it, but no one would be really listening, and he doesn’t want that to dampen his mood.

It’s Allura who excuses herself first, eyes down as she carries her plate to the sink to rinse. She says, “Good night, paladins,” in a terse voice before swishing out of the room with her hands folded over her stomach. Keith glares at her sidelong before shoving the last of his dinner into his mouth before sitting back and waiting a full ten minutes before excusing himself from the table, just to make sure he doesn’t cross paths with her while he’s volatile. 

Gulping slowly, Lance glances to the others at the table and searches their faces. Pidge looks like she’s completely lost her appetite, and Hunk is mechanically putting food in his mouth, as if to ignore the weird air in the room. Coran’s been done ages ago, but he only stands now, clearing his throat as he pushes his chair in.

“Well.” He straightens his coat, putting enough spirit into his voice as he can. “I suppose that’s it for the night. Make sure to wake up bright and early for tomorrow. There’s much to do!” 

Pidge sighs after he vanishes. “Yeah, okay, I’m out. Going to bed. Peace.” And Hunk halfheartedly nods before slowly putting down his spoon and gathering himself.

Before he can stop himself, Lance feels himself saying, “I’m sorry I was gone.”

Hunk blinks, before shaking his head. “Nah, man, there’s nothing to apologize for.” He piles their dishes together and stands, rubbing his eyes.

“I’ll do the dishes,” Lance says.

“It’s okay, you just got back, I can—“

“Definitely let _me_ do them,” he insists. “I’m not tired anyway, I only woke up maybe eight hours ago. I owe you guys for being gone a whole day.”

For a moment Hunk is reluctant, jaw working quietly, but with a final sigh he relinquishes the dirty plates, clearly too tired to argue. With a final grateful smile, he says, “Thanks, Lance.”

“No problem, dude.”

“I’m exhausted, but… tell me about your date tomorrow? Hopefully today’s tension will have, I don’t know, diminished by then.”

Lance laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah, of course.”

When he’s finally alone, he sighs, stooped over the kitchen sink. Over the course of dinner, his bracelet vibrated a few times, but he had to tell Torvald he was busy. Despite the fact he enjoyed hanging out with him, Lance feels a little guilty seeing the turmoil at home. Is he really spending his time daydreaming about a handsome stranger while his friends rip their hair out arguing with each other?

Thinking back over the past day, he can’t help wishing he was still on that far-off planet treading water. That small escape with Torvald was a sweet moment, but does he really have timeto spare for that?

Sliding the spotless dishes into the air dryer, he sighs, deciding on a walk before attempting to pass out. The long day begins to catch up to him as he paces the halls for nearly an hour, exhaustion muddying his senses so much that he almost doesn’t notice a flickering blue light in the meeting lounge right as he’s passing by. 

Peering inside, he spots a familiar video illuminated on a tablet screen. It’s Shiro’s log, dimmed so much it barely lights up the room, and the volume is so low that his voice passes only as a whisper.

But the sniffles are loud and clear as Princess Allura rubs her nose. Her braided hair hangs loosely down her back as she stares solemnly at the tablet in her lap, worrying at her lips so much they’re raw. As the video ends, she plays it again. When Shiro smiles, she almost smiles back, but then the expression gives way to reality. The palace mice snuggle into her side, silent comforts as she watches a ghost speak.

Feeling like an intruder, Lance steps back from the door, prepared to forget everything he’s just seen, but then Allura says aloud, “I’ve already seen you, Lance. Just come in.”

So he does, his chest aching as the princess looks up to him with grief-stricken eyes. She smiles tightly.

“Strange, isn’t I?” She whispers, voice breaking. “I thought I had it handled, but then we find this video log and suddenly I’m starting from scratch again.” Pausing it, she leans back, composing herself as she tucks her hair behind her ear. 

Lance awkwardly sits down next to her, now noticing the dried tears on her cheeks. “I think it’d be strange if it didn’t affect you at all.”

Allura nods, half-listening, half-lost. “You heard us, didn’t you?”

“Huh?”

“The argument with Keith. You heard it.”

Fidgeting, he says, “It was hard not to.”

She chuckles, but then suddenly all humour is gone. “What do you think I should do?”

He eyes her carefully. “About?”

“Keith’s request.The Blade of Marmora, that whole thing. What should I do?”

He stiffens, feeling the question to be a bit of a trap. “I think you should let him look into it.”

She turns to face him. “Why?”

“Because it’s important for Keith to know the origin of his knife?” Lance says slowly, “But also for him to know what Shiro was hiding. What he was trying to do.” He shrugs. “Aren’t you curious?”

Allura looks away, picking at a loose thread in her sleeve. The mice jump over her arm, tackling each other. “It would be a lie to say I’m not.”

“Why so against it then?” 

Staring at the tablet again, she straightens her back, clears her throat, and says with a dismissive air, “Does it matter?”

Lance looks at her incredulously. “Um, yeah? I think it does?”

She flashes him a frown. “How? It’s not like it really does, Keith will find a way to go on his own, regardless of whether or not he has my support.”

“Maybe, but he asked first, didn’t he?” He points out. “He could’ve just gone and not said anything. Doesn’t him asking _at all_ show that it matters?” When she opens her mouth again, he adds, “Plus, he hasn’t left _yet_. I don’t know about you, but I’d consider that an improvement.”

“Yes, but—“

“And if you guys have been arguing for more than a day, and he stuck around for all of it instead of walking off? Come on, Allura, even you can admit that’s character development.”

She rolls her eyes. “Perhaps.”

“Then why?” Lance asks, and adjusts himself so he’s facing her. “Is it because the Blade of Marmora is a galra thing?”

At that she flinches, just like she did earlier when Keith mentioned it, but she doesn’t turn away. For five seconds she doesn’t say anything, and in that time Lance feels a little selfish. Not only is he asking to figure out how she feels about the Blade for Keith’s sake, but also because he wants to feel out how treacherous his friendship with Torvald might be. He’s mainly asking for the latter.

“Yes,” she says, with indiscernible certainty. Then quietly, almost imperceptibly, “but…”

Lance raises his brows, leaning forward. “But?”

She blinks at him, sitting back. “What? Nothing.”

“Oh, no no no, princess—but _what?_ ”

“Enough, Lance.” Then standing and setting down the tablet, Allura straightens her nightgown and wipes her cheeks. “I’m going to bed—“

“Nu-uh,” he interrupts, standing up himself. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“Thing?” She squints at him.

“That evading thing.” That thing she started doing ever since Shiro disappeared. When Allura steps back, he can see her hands trembling. “Is there something you don’t want us to know?”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Lance.”

He studies her for a moment, sees the way she holds herself like nothing’s wrong. “What’re you hiding?”

Now she scoffs. “ _What_?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Like, is there something you’re afraid of?”

She snaps, “What could I _possibly_ be afraid of?” And Lance steps backward, surprised, and even the palace mice leap from Allura’s shoulders and disperse, squeaking into the shadows. Her voice rises. “The Blade of Marmora? The galra?”

“Uh, I don’t—“

“No, you don’t!” Allura’s hands gather into fists at her sides. “You _don’t_ get it! None of you do!” She paces away, fingers massaging her temples as her eyes squeeze shut. For a moment she struggles with her words. “I’ve been trying to pretend… Pretend that I can, I don’t know, hold it together despite everything that’s been going on. Despite how I feel.”

_About the Blade?_ Lance would ask, but he can’t bring himself to speak. Instead, he gulps and stays silent.

“Not everything’s made sense, but I thought I could see clearly enough,” she continues, shaking her head. “I knew who we were fighting and what side of the war we were on. I didn’t think it possible to conceive of any other outlying factors, but then that video log surfaced and Shiro…” She wraps herself in her own arms, shivering. Voice breaking, she says, “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

“And you say that why?”

“Because it's definitely worrying you.”

And Allura’s shoulders slack. She exhales unsteadily. “I’m not _worried_ , Lance. At least not about what you think.” She sits back down, head in her hands. “Sometimes when I look at all of you I can see that some of you think Shiro’s dead. I’m not blind.” And she looks up, eyes shining and solemn. “You think he’s dead, don’t you. Not vanished; dead.”

Startled, Lance blinks, looking away as if caught in a crime.

Then Allura continues softly, voice barely a croak, “But I can’t believe it myself. Sometimes it’s like I can feel him out there, somewhere amongst the stars, but honestly it could just be wishful thinking.” When she blinks, a tear slips down her cheek. “I can barely sleep anymore, and after that video log… it’s been a rude awakening for me."  And her voice falters to a whisper. “I’ve been… stubborn, haven't I? Too stubborn to change. I can’t even meet my eye when I look in the mirror for fear of what I'll see.”

As she speaks, Lance stares at the floor, sees in his peripheral the tired look on Allura’s face. He almost doesn't recognize her.

She says, “If I had been more open, do you think he’d still be here now?”

He lifts his head, confused as he meets her unwavering gaze. "Open?"

“If I didn’t oppose the mere idea that we could get help from galra, do you think we would’ve been strong enough not to lose him?”

“Allura,” Lance whispers, his chest aching. “It’s not your fault. All of us blamed ourselves for that night, you can’t just—“

“Yes, I can.” And she glances away. She speaks evenly, emptily, like all exhaustion in the world sits in her throat. “I guess I am afraid, Lance. Afraid to be wrong. If I’m wrong, and the Blade _are_ our allies, then that means I have singlehandedly kept us from a factor that could have saved Shiro’s life.” Suddenly Allura smiles, but it’s filled with pain instead of humour. Her tears, a steady stream now, betrays her self-loathing, and Lance recognizes in her face a struggle he’s seen in himself. 

It hurts. 

Allura laughs. “It’s funny, isn’t it? My own pride broke my heart.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW, where have I been. Happy Halloween? I hope this chapter is good enough, I'm tired and am a little unsure, but feedback is welcome. Please be kind! I will be routinely editing it just for grammar things.
> 
> Fair to mention:  
> I have it so that Allura (alive) is basically 19 or 20-ish age equivalent.


End file.
